God Save The Esteem
by Charles RocketBoy
Summary: October 2010, and the hardcore punk Morgendorffers are descending on Lawndale: Hellion, Jake the Snake, Killer Quinn, and... Daria, the one who refuses to rebel properly. Can an armour of sarcasm get Daria through headbutt-filled family life AND school?
1. God Save The Esteem

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This all started as a short gag on the Paperpusher Message Board. Various fic writers were musing about what _Daria_ would be like if it aired in 2010 instead of 1997, and I figured "Helen and Jake would be former early-80s punks instead of late-60s hippies" – and then "what if they were _still_ punks?". That, and a few other little ideas, led to a monster that shows no signs of stopping…

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**

The wagon roared down the suburban street, grime and spraypaint and rust striking fear into the hearts of all those middle-class. Fiery letters spelt out "MORBIDDORFFERS".

Inside, a man in ripped jeans and a leather jacket with no shirt, adorned with aging badges; safety pins in his ears and spiked green hair. To his side, a young girl in tight black leather everything, garish rips torn open at strategic places, a shock-pink crew cut. Behind him... a girl wearing a skirt and jacket, vegetating on an iPod.

"Now girls, I know you're being stuck in another of the Man's gulags and that's always going to be tough, but your ma and I want you to know that we'll back you to the hilt if those totalitarian pigs try anything," said Jake 'the Snake' in a pleasant voice.

"That's good, I can try out arson at long last," responded the girl in the back.

"Ha ha... Um... Anyway, girls, try not to get too upset if the other kids can't handle your rebel natures, okay? And, in your case Daria, if they don't... um... recognise it straight away."

"I'll remember to try and be unique in the same way as everyone else."

"Gahdamnit Daria, your mother just suggested you get a piercing – _suggested_!"

"With a half-price coupon."

The wagon snarled to a stop outside of Lawndale High, and Quinn leapt out '**** you' boots first.

"Hey, you're cool," said a heavyset Goth girl at the first sight of her. "What's your name?"

"'Killer' Quinn Morgendorffer."

"Cool name," said a scarlet-haired girl.

Daria sighed and got out of the wagon. "Dad, are you sure we moved? Because it's all looking a bit familiar."

"I'm... _pretty_ sure..." said Jake distantly, searching for the map with growing horror.

* * *

"Now, Quinn... what do you see here?"

"It's a picture of two people talking, like, _duh_," sneered 'Killer' Quinn. "That's supposed to be a test? Bitch, please!"

Manson drew in a deep breath. "Can you make up a little story about what it is they're discussing?"

"Let's see... they've been unfairly stepped on by The Man just because they've been late to school a few times and got caught smoking, so he's saying 'gahdammit I've had enough of ****ing school!' and she's saying ***** yeah, let's blow it up!' And then they sing Another Brick In The Wall while planting explosives." Quinn smirked.

"I… er… _Dora_!"

"It's Daria."

"I'm sorry... Daria. What do you see in the picture, Dara?"

"A herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains."

Quinn snorted. "You always say that, Daria."

"Hey, it was the answer the first time I did this. It could be again. You never know."

"That's a different test, dear," said Manson, sounding on the verge of tears. "In this test, they're people, and you tell me what they're discussing."

" Oh... I see. All right, then. It's… what Quinn said?"

* * *

At the Morgendorffer house, everything was neat and tidy, but that would probably soon change. The family gnawed their way through piles of takeaway chicken.

"Then I met this stoner girl called Burnout – that's, like, her handle, no one knows her real name, and _she_ thought I was bitchin' too! I may now have a ten-strong gang to mooch with. And the Fashion Club ran away screamin' after the first time we met!"

"You're doing great, sweetie," said Helen.

"What about you, Daria?" asked Jake. "How was your first day?"

"Well, my history teacher hates me because I know all the answers, but there are some interesting idiots in my class."

"That's great! Piss off the Man!"

"See Daria, you can make an impact if you try," said Helen. "Remember, you're in a brand-new school in a brand-new town. You don't have to be stuck with the same conservative rep you had in Highland!"

"I can't have my Highland rep. People here can pronounce my name."

At this point, the phone rang and Helen "Hellion Wheels" Morgendorffer sighed and got up to answer it, muttering that she hoped it wasn't the neighbours complaining again about the scrap metal statues outside.

"Hello? Yes. Uh, yes, they're my daughters. I see. Well, let me tell YOU something, mister: my girls are just showing the correct attitude from being forced to take some mind-oppressing, fascist bully-boy test designed to force them into conformity! They're not going to your poxy classes unless you want some _trouble_, mush!" She slammed the phone down. "You girls took a psychological test at school today?"

"It was a total bummer!" snorted Quinn. "At least they're not grading us. …they're not, right?"

"They claimed you had anger and violence issues, and Daria had low self-esteem. They wanted you in special classes so they can fix you. We've said no, of course!"

"I don't have low self esteem," said Daria. "I just have low esteem for everyone else."

"Attagirl, kiddo!" Jake abruptly hugged her, joined by Helen.

"We're so proud of you, Daria!"

"Hey, they thought I was violent!" cried a hurt Quinn.

"Oh we're proud of you too, Quinn! Come on, family hug!"

"With Daria? EWWWWW!"

"I have cooties," said Daria, unnoticed.

"Tomorrow, we're all going out as a family to celebrate!"

"Oooh, can we go to Chez Pierre? My new friends would think I was awesome if we made a scene at Chez Pierre!"

* * *

Before Chez Pierre, Jake and Helen had a mutual client to see. Daria and Quinn got pulled along after Quinn heard the client was in a band and begged to visit.

"Now behave yourselves and don't eat out of the Lane's fridge, they specified not to do that." As Helen rang the front door of the rickety house, she looked at Daria – still dressed in her usual – and sighed. "Oh Daria, you couldn't have at least worn a leather jacket? It's like you don't want to be part of this family."

"Well, I thought I'd wear something that'd get me into a restaurant, since I assume that's what we're after and not, I don't know, to make a scene at the entrance."

"We'll talk about this later, young lady."

A lanky, sleepy-eyed, unshaven sex god opened the door and Quinn gave an audible squeal. Daria tried not to roll her eyes – he looked good, but years of exposure to her parent's rocker and metal friends had immunised her to the appeal.

_But I now get to see Quinn make an ass of herself. I'm glad I was taken along._

Jake took the man – Trent – aside to discuss his band, their image, and their web presence, assuring him "with the right look and buzz, you could double your web sales – at least!". Quinn followed around, basking in Trent's presence. Helen, however, was in a more serious discussion with the girl of the house who Daria was sure she'd seen somewhere before.

"They forgot to even _Paypal_ you money for the mortgage? No offence, but your parents are tossers."

"Nah, that's fair," said the girl.

"Well, if they pick up your reminder and send it, you're okay. Otherwise, to prevent foreclosure… hmm, best tactic is to focus on you being a minor and having lived here all your life, it's in your best interests to stay. Also point out your brother's securing a greater source of income – Jake can testify to that in court – and offer to pay more on later instalments. I'll draft a letter just in case, the bank won't expect your family to have legal representation-"

"Thanks and all that, but I'm not sure we can afford a lawyer."

"As with Morgendorffer Consulting, Morgendorffer Legal is willing to adjust its payment schemes to whatever works best for you. If your parents send payment before I have to do anything, there's no charge." Grim fire burned in Helen's eyes. "Standing up to the power is my ****ing job! NO FUTURE!"

"Uh, okay."

_Please don't sing_, thought Daria.

* * *

"You're that girl in my class that makes rude comments about everyone."

"And you're that girl in my class that passes out in class and draws rude caricatures of people."

"Let's make out!" She smiled when Daria stared at her. "Joke, honest. I'm Jane, and you're The Weird Girl."

"I have been known to go by that from time to time. My cover identity is Daria."

"And this is _your_ family? Wow. They're actually at home and taking you places! Oh, and your mother's hair is green and mohawked with safety pins in it, but whatever."

"I study hard, dress conservatively, and have never dated. I am a shame to them."

"I've seen Quinn around school. I think everyone's seen Quinn, especially after she sung I Fought The Law in the cafeteria when Bennett tried to tell her off."

"A cynical person would say she's rebellious and wants everyone to know she's rebellious and go 'look at that cool girl who is rebellious, she's cool!'."

"Boy, I sure wish there were some cynical people to hang with at school." Jane smirked. "That's a big hint, by the way."

"Cool."

"Y'know, I'm surprised Manson didn't put you in Self Esteem. You have a personality and everything."

"She tried, Mum stomped on it. Besides, I don't have low self esteem. I'm not saying things are great, but… okay, you've met my family, they're very embarrassing to be related to and my parents will keep making a fuss because I'm not rebelling in the exact way they want me too, which is so ironic I can hardly believe it, but I _do_ know I can count on them when I need to."

"What'd they do?"

"I just know."

* * *

Ten years ago.

"…what's your favorite game to play at recess?"

" I don't like games. I like to read."

"Don't you enjoy playing with the other children?"

" Not really. They never understand what I'm talking about and then they make fun of me. I like to read."

On the drive home, Daria set in a fug and waited to get told off – they always told her off for this at school, Granny Barksdale and Grampa 'Mad Dog' had done it last time she'd seen them, grown-ups always told her off, _always_.

Instead, Mummy said: "Sweetie… you're different to the other kids."

Daria braced herself.

"Well, Mummy and Daddy are different to other grown-ups, and sometimes those other grown-ups don't know what _we're_ talking about and make fun of us too. But there are some people who aren't like that and are more like us. One day, you'll find another kid who's different too. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"And I'll tell you this – there's nothing wrong with liking to read."

* * *

"Daria, get a move on, kiddo! If we hurry, we can get to Chez Pierre at the same time as the finance worker crowd!"

"Dream a little dream, Dad…"

THE END

* * *

**Bonus Features: The Daria Diaries present Masochist's Memories**

[A photo album entitled Magical Memories - the "Magical" has been crossed out and "Masochist's" has been written over it in Daria's handwriting.]

A faded photo of an elderly woman, Ruth Morgendorffer, futilely waving a teddy bear at a baby Daria. Daria just stares back, grumpy and unimpressed.

[in Daria's handwriting] _Let me guess. It squeaks._

Daria's first birthday. She's surrounded by presents and a large cake, and has been dressed in a baby version of a leather jacket with a spiky wig. Looking faintly bemused, she holds onto a balloon animal.

_It was all downhill from here._

A two-year-old Daria holds a newborn baby Quinn, who's crying with extreme force. Daria looks irritated.

_She's broken, you better take her back._

Halloween. Daria is completely obscured, bar her glasses, in a 'ghost' sheet. An excited Quinn is dressed as Freddy Kruegar, while a smiling Aunt Amy - clad in a home-made Star Wars Stormtrooper costume (she holds the helmet under arm) - kneels down with them.

_Give us candy or be psychologically terrorised._

A theme park's dodgems ride - Quinn and Daria are about to ram into each other, both with big grins; Jake cheers from the sides. Six year old Quinn has an adorable tiny mohawk.

_This is why I can't borrow the car._

An Iraq War protest in Texas, with Helen and Jake raging with angry picket signs; Mr Van Driessen, a middle-aged Goth, waves a milder "No War For Oil". A nine year old Daria has a sign with small print and bullet points.

_Quinn didn't make it. She couldn't decide on the right slogan._

A grumpy Daria at summer camp, wearing a Camp Dragonfly shirt. In the background, we can see severe fire damage.

_Quinn took "Colour War" literally._

Jake and a policeman are high-fiving each other with looks of happy recognition; Helen and the policeman's partner are bewildered.

_Dad meets his old friend Smash-the-State Tate. It seems he calmed down a bit since college._

The family in not-formal-at-all dress (except for Daria, wearing an ill-fitting dress) leave a church looking happy. Jake is flipping the church off.

_Cousin Finn's wedding. We never got invited to another event by Dad's family ever again – just as he'd planned._

Teenage Daria in a yellow jacket stands with Earl, a grumpy violent thug. Quinn can be seen in the background, staring at Earl with a massive crush.

_Earl and me at Highland, before his stint in juvie. It was self-defence._

Daria and a group of other nerds, from teens to twenties, eating pizza.

_Sick Sad Message Board Texas meet, winter 2009. L to R: me, PenguinLover, firefly4eva, Watch_the_Skies, Fred19, MsMiss, and TheNoticablyFAT._

President Obama posing for a photo with Daria and Beavis and Butt-head. There are no other students around.

_Most of the honour student's parents refused to let them be around "that socialist", so Principal McVicker had to boost numbers _somehow_. (I asked Obama some questions about the "Blue Dogs" and Republican opposition, but the Secret Service made me sign to say I wouldn't repeat his answers)._

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES II: Thanks to Brian Taylor, who was a handy sounding board for ideas and coined Helen & Jake's punk names in his Moving Pictures fanfic. "Masochist's Memories" was a feature in the "The Daria Diaries" book, and some scenes above are alternates of them, included with some alternate Beavis and Butt-head.


	2. Fight For Your Invite To Party

GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM

**Ep 2: Fight For Your Invite To Party**

"_Damn_ you, old man, I'm doing _fine_ with my life!" Jake roared at the empty air. "Business is doing GREAT! I'm not a screw-up though YOU tried to MAKE ME ONE **CURSE YOU OLD MAN!**"

_I hate when Dad's taking a call on the Bluetooth, it looks really freaky,_ thought Daria. _Speaking of freaky, let's see if I can bug Quinn._

In her darkened room, full to the brim with graffiti on the walls and band posters and dumped clothes and a faded, long-chewed plush dinosaur (Quinn refused to dump Mr Rex), Quinn was going through her leather gear and trying to find the skimpiest ones she could.

"Hmmm… one inch after bra or half inch? One inch or half inch, one inch or half inch…"

"Is this a bad time to mention there's a cold front coming in?" Daria stood in the doorway, the cloud behind the silver lining.

"Go away, I'm concentrating. There's some big party in Crewe Neck on Saturday and we're gonna be crashing it."

"Countdown: T minus 72 hours. Might this be Brittany's party?"

"Yes, and might you… how do _you _know about a party?"

"I'm invited. Not sure if I'll go yet."

"You're invi…. MUM! DAD! _DARIA'S SELLING OUT!_"

* * *

Dinner was a tense affair, with both parents staring at Daria with shock and nervousness, Quinn poised to make things worse.

"So, sweetie… This Brittany, she's a cheerleader, right?"

"I'm thinking of trying out," said Daria between bites. "I'd really like to support the school spirit."

"Is there something the matter at school?" Helen's voice was full of concern. "You can tell us anything, you know that-"

"I saw her talking to a _preppy_ kid!" yelled Quinn.

Daria had. Specifically, she'd asked him to move off her locker.

"I'm joking, Mum. I just showed her the basics of using a pencil and she invited me as payback."

"_Oh thank god_ – I mean, I'm glad to see you helping the mentally less fortunate, Daria."

"So I don't need to broaden my social horizons and learn to come out of my anti-social shell then."

"Hell no, Daria, that sort of crowd is the one _your Aunt Rita_ was in!" Jake sounded like he was describing the Khmer Rouge's elite puppy-kicking wing. "Ewww-www-wwww!"

"_What _do you mean by… oh, who am I kidding, Rita sucked balls."

"I like the refined conversation of our family meals," said Daria.

"We're going to smuggle beer cans into the party and sell it to the football players but not tell them it's really Mountain Dew in there!" said Quinn proudly. "That was my idea, Shaggy and Scarlett said it was awesome."

"Just remember the golden rule," pointed out Jake. "Nothing higher than pot and caffeine pills until you're 18-"

"And only pot that's bought locally, and always be clear where your supply comes from…" Quinn yawned.

"…and if you catch us with heroin or cocaine ever, you'll drive us down to the morgues in Juarez to make us apologise to the corpses," finished Daria.

"Damn right! Huh, and the old man says I can't discipline my kids WELL **** YOU OLD MAN!"

After Quinn left, Helen fixed Daria with a stare: "Daria, I'd like it if you went along and kept an eye on Quinn."

"I don't know what I did but it can't have been _that _bad."

"Your sister hasn't crashed any parties in Lawndale before, she won't yet know who in her gang she can truly rely on or the best exit routes. I'm trusting you to watch her back."

"No one suspects the conservatively dressed girl, eh?"

"So _that's _why you – ohhhh!" Jake gave her a thumbs-up. "Good work, Daria!"

"Jake, she was joking."

* * *

Trent's car had been the stylish thing ten years ago and now… well, it still moved forward.

"Thanks for the ride, Trent," said Jane.

"No problem. I need a break anyway. I've been practicing for ten hours straight."

"And he means _real_ practice, not sleeping with a guitar in his hands," Jane informed Daria.

"Your dad's business plan was like… _whoa._ It inspired me." He began tapping on the steering wheel. "My look's been rebranded, but my soul still screams 'damn it!'…. Um…"

"Pluto's no longer a planet," offered Daria.

"Yeah, that was just wrong, man." He pulled up outside Crewe Neck, still in thought. "Pluto's no longer a planet… The Man is out to can it! Yeah. Cool. Thanks, Daria."

"Sure you don't want to crash?"

"Will Quinn be there?"

"Yep."

"Better not then." He shook his head, stunned. "She _scares_ me, Janey."

"You're a smart man," said Daria.

The two girls approached the security guard, defender of Crewe Neck against the scourge of the working classes. He was a huge mountain of meat, arms like ICBMs, his face in permanent scowl.

"Hi Steve," said Jane.

"Hey."

Steve was the main security guard at Lawndale, enforcer of Li's police state regime. And that confused Daria, because she was sure security guards didn't leave work only to go secure & guard other things.

"Steve is an individual and not an army of guard clones, right?"

"Regular guard was 'sick'" - Steve mimed drinking from a bottle – "so I got forced over here. I should've read the contract before signing – I don't mean the small print, I mean the _contract_. Anyway, right, what's this for?"

"We're here for Brittany Taylor's party."

"Pbbt. Yeah, pull the other one, Daria _holy **** you really are_." He stared at the list in horror. "You better go through. Jane… oh what the hell, if Daria's going they won't have a problem with you too."

"I like you Steve, you're always honest," said Daria.

"I hope you're the last people, I got a stack of porn to go through tonight."

"That was too honest."

* * *

Brittany opened the door with a massive squee. "Daria! You're here! Now we're even!"

"This is Jane. She wasn't invited but if I talk to her, I won't be bothering the popular kids."

"Oh wow, you _are_ smart Daria! Bring her in!"

The two girls entered, watching the beautiful people dancing and being young and having fun with their friends. It was terrible. On the plus side, food.

"Look. Three kinds of chips. Flat, ridgy, and… with a hole in the middle. Isn't science wonderful?"

The chips Daria nibbled at were cheese and onion flavoured, and it got worse from there. Because that's when _he_ arrived, a man with a great aura of sleaze, clad in shades and a glaring white suit and the pimpiest-canest pimp cane you ever did see.

"Hel-_loooooo_, my lovelies! Charles Ruttheimer the Third here, and I'll be your social director for the evening. Would you luscious souls like a free tour of the house?"

Daria looked him up and down. "Everyone nicknames you 'Upchuck', don't they."

"I have been known to answer by that title, and… _some others_." He leered at her.

"Oh hey!" cried out Jane, grabbing Daria by the arm. "I've just seen my ex-boyfriend! I can go ask him if he's sure he didn't give me chlamydia!"

The two girls escaped, a growl of "feisty!" at their backs.

"Upchuck's not dangerous but _you_ will be if you listen to him for more than thirty seconds."

"He seems rich. Can't he buy a sense of style?"

"Oh yeah, he's rich. He runs his own online business, and found the one industry that isn't harmed by a recession."

Horror dawned on her. "Please tell me you mean drug dealing."

"No such luck, it's porn alright. It's not official but everyone knows it's him. How he stops the law getting to him, we don't know. That cane was custom made, y'know."

"Nice to see being rich didn't change him."

"On the bright side, I really did see my ex. _HEY TOM!_"

A young man, talking to a friend, turned around: he was dressed in a plain black shirt and some trousers, someone who was too lazy to keep up with fashion and so had spent hours upon hours looking for cheap clothes. He smiled slightly as he saw Jane.

"Jane, the doctor confirms I don't have chlamydia but he _does_ think I may have passed on swine flu."

"Ah, is there no end to the damage you leave behind, Mr Sloane?"

"Hell no, I'm upper class. If we don't leave behind carcinogenic substances and mass CO2 emissions, all the other rich people think we're wimps and pick on us. Speaking of:" He pointed to his friend, a speccy lad in sharp 'smart casual' clothes and a smooth grin (well, he thought it was smooth). "Pat Seven, he's from Fielding Prep."

"I thought I'd reassure the young ladies of Lawndale High that, don't worry, Tom's an aberration among us," said Pat.

"Tom's got a personality?" asked Daria.

"Oh I like _her_. This must be the famous Jane Lane that shattered Pope's heart."

"_That's_ Jane, I'm Da- _Pope?_ Come to think of it, Pat _Seven_?"

"Explaining all the in-jokes and nickname logic and protocols of the upper-rati would be long and tedious… for Tom." Jane smirked. "So ask him."

* * *

Quinn and her gang of ten crept on Crewe Neck like thieves in the night. Getting in would not be easy, but Quinn had a plan. She was going to distract the guard with her feminine wiles while her allies snuck in, then leg it in herself.

And then the party would be all theirs to raise hell in, aw yeah. The guard was just the first obstacle…

The guard looked up from his porn.

"Oh. Hey, Steve."

"Hey." He went back to the porn, not paying her and the others any attention.

_Well that's no damn fun,_ thought Quinn.

* * *

"…and to cut a long story short, by the end of the night, he was forever known as Darkfart," finished Tom. "Prep schools are unforgiving."

"You've made me glad I go to Lawndale," said Daria. "I hate you for that."

"Hey, I go too. I _envy_ Pat and his den of elitist psychological torture."

"And senior girls in skirts and tight blazers," added Pat.

"Recession meant my dad either made big cuts at the family business or we made big cuts at home, he went with the latter. My sis and I are doing two years here at Lawndale, then maybe Fielding if the company keeps recovering. On the plus side, I met Jane. On the down side-"

"I met him."

"Well now I need a new punchline."

From across the way, there was a loud commotion. Daria sighed as the source of the disturbance become clear: the Maleficent Eleven had turned up, scowling and aggressively wearing dark colours and some chugging beer.

"Wonder how they got past Brittany at the door?" asked Jane.

"It's Brittany. They showed her something shiny."

"You know 'Killer' Quinn and her posse?" asked Tom.

"I'm related to her. I remember when she was Kick-Butt Quinn at age 6. She had the most adorable tiny Mohawk."

Pat Seven was staring at the loud gang with bemusement. "They're a rather whimsical lot, aren't they?"

* * *

"Oh no, it's those guys!" Jeffy shot the gang a dark look. "How'd they get in? What if they start playing _emo?_"

"Yeah, I bet they all like emo!" said Joey with fear. "What is wrong with that Quinn anyway? She dresses, like…" He struggled for a word. "_Weird._"

"Yeah, she's really weird!"

"Totally weird!"

"She's got piercings in her belly and everything! We-ird!"

"Don't you agree, Jamie? Jamie?"

Jamie had been staring at Quinn in silence for about a minute, but snapped out of it with a guilty look.

"Er, yeah, weird! Ha ha!"

* * *

As Daria got closer to Quinn, she could see she really was selling beer cans to Kevin and his jock mates. Ah, the free market.

"Note the position of the wild Quinn. Slowly edging her pack towards the hi-fi system. Something is afoot, Watson."

"Andrea's got beer again. This could get ugly."

"Dave's there, it's already ugly."

"Well, I bet you've never seen this happen at a Fielding party, right Pat?" Tom noticed Pat had a dazed expression on his face. "Oh, Pat. Again?"

"She's a vision of loveliness in black…" he whispered.

Daria looked out at the girls in black. "Could you be more specific?"

"Quinn." He tried out the name again, savouring it. "Cer-win. I'm going to go over there."

"That's a very bad idea."

"I'm going to talk to her."

"Just walk away."

Pat Seven walked over to Quinn's gang, getting a hostile glare from everyone. Unperturbed, he said something to Quinn.

Quinn spat in his face and shoved him backwards.

"Huh. She must be in a good mood," said Daria.

Pat staggered back to the group, the love struck expression still on his face. "Oh Pope, even her spit is as sweet as nectar."

"Man, you are _desperate_ this month."

Quinn was nearing the hi-fi. Daria glanced about, trying to ping any sources of potential trouble. (She saw Kevin looking at his beer can with confusion and saying "I don't remember Budweiser tasting like this…") Another glance showed a clear path to a rear exit.

"It was nice meeting you Tom, but I'd advice you and Pat move far away from the hi-fi. When what goes down goes down, you'll thank me."

"I believe you." He shook her hand and headed off.

"He's pretty friendly."

"Yeah, he's alright for an evil ex," said Jane. "You blushed when he touched you."

"_What?"_

"Psyche."

* * *

Jeffy and Joey were off double-checking the beer cans. That left Jamie free to brave the hostility of the gang and talk to Quinn. He was going to talk to Quinn. He was going to do it _now._

"Um, hi, Q-"

She turned to look at him, all 'eff off' vibes and contempt, and the words died on his lips.

"What do _you_ want, Jesse?"

"I'm Jamie," he said in a small voice.

"Who the **** cares? Andrea, get rid of this bitch!"

Andrea got rid of him so fast he whacked his head on the sofa. He counted himself lucky.

And his one thought beyond that was that he had to talk to her _again._

_

* * *

_

"Quinn's at the hi-fi. She's getting a CD out – ah, a 'mix tape', her old game. She'll be turning up the volume soon."

"Eh, I live with Trent. I can stomach this just as well as you."

"I think the football players have worked out that the untrustworthy gang claiming to sell good things for a low price were _lying_."

"Ah. Plan to get your sis out?"

"Well, we'll let her have her fun first."

Quinn's gang were forming a defensive wall around her and the sound system. With lightning speed, Quinn ripped out the current CD and inserted her own, cranked the volume to eleven, and pressed play—

"**CHANGE MY PITCH UP! SMACK MY BITCH UP!"**

The sound face-punched everyone in a five-metre radius and caused glasses to shake. Even Quinn's own gang winced, though Quinn herself had already started dancing obscenely. Daria stood, disappointed: Omen was clearly the better Prodigy song.

The party was already creaking under the noise when the CD started playing Pretty Vacant – or "va-******!**" as Johnny Rotten seemed to think it was, with Quinn and her posse singing along with every single va-****.

"Her room is next to mine!" yelled Daria to Jane. "Pity me!"

"I always pity you!"

"Well, nobody seems willing to get closer to the noise, so Quinn's safe from reprisals! Job done, let's eat chips!"

On the way to the food, Daria spotted Brittany and paused. Brittany looked upset. Which, Daria had to concede, wasn't surprising since her party had been hijacked and beer & swearing was flying about.

_Damn it, conscience, you always strike at the worst times._

Sighing, Daria advanced to the hi-fi – the volume was nothing she'd not heard before at 3AM – and took out her weapon of last resort: her own mix CD. Quinn spotted her and tried to block her from taking action, but too late…

Vivaldi's Spring cantered out of the radio, and Quinn's gang fled like vampires from sunlight.

"DAH-REE-AH!" screamed Quinn, infuriated. "You totally wrecked my rebellion! God!"

"Hey, the popular crowd don't listen to classical music and neither does your gang. Therefore, by playing it, I'm being extra rebellious."

"….JUST **** OFF!" Quinn stormed away.

Once the gang was dispersed, Daria took her CD and let the party return to normal – which, frankly, made her feel dirty inside.

* * *

"Well, the two of you managed to even further alienate your classmates than you already had," said Jane as they left the party.

"A successful night," said Daria.

"You always ruin my fun!" fumed Quinn.

"Oh, come on. I saved your friends from getting beaten up by football players by claiming you were selling them Mountain Dew flavoured beer that was even more alcoholic than regular… I still can't believe they fell for it either."

"Andrea and Dave were _looking forward_ to a punch-up, damn it! They'd been talking about it all week!"

"You have classy friends."

"Don't knock hers, Daria, you talked to Pat Seven willingly," said Jane.

"Sociological experiment."

"How are getting home, anyway?" asked Quinn.

At that very moment, a sleek and shiny car pulled up, containing the weak and slimy form of Upchuck.

"You ladies in need of a knight in shining armour?"

Daria thought for a second. "Can we play a CD on the way home?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart – the sound system is top of the range, as with everything about me _rrrrowr!_"

Daria smiled at Quinn. "Never say I don't do anything for you…"

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES II: Thanks to Roentgen, who let me borrow Pat Seven from his The Hallowed Halls of Fielding fanfic (and provided the "spit" line); and to Brother Grimace for the idea of Upchuck as an Internet porn lord and midnightstorm for post-recession Tom at Lawndale, both ideas on the same PPMB thread that spawned this.


	3. Family Devalued

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Episode 3: Family Devalued**

"So zombies really exist," said Daria, stunned.

"Now come on, the car's not _that_ bad," protested Tom.

"I think you need these glasses more than I do."

Tom had been acting smug all day at school, stating he'd got his own car to go with his learner's license. At the end of the day, Daria and Jane had agreed to come along and let him show it off to them... only to find the most ancient, rust-riddled Jaguar imaginable.

"I paid for it myself, saving up with my part-time job." Tom proudly patted the car, causing it to groan under the pressure. "In later years I can look back at this baby and be proud."

"And today, you can look back at it to find out which piece has fallen off this time."

"Daria's right about everything," said Jane. "Your car is likely to explode at any moment. Can I take a ride in it?"

Daria stared in shock, unable to believe Jane was serious – but she was. Tom opened the door, laughing at Daria's confusion.

"And now, my friend, you've seen what it was like when we were dating."

"Come on, Daria, join us! You know you want to die, we've got a Math test tomorrow!"

"I think I'll walk. Though hold on a second..."

She headed back towards the school, where Quinn's gang were mooching around the teacher's cars, smoking and swearing and listening to music and generally trying to scare any watching educators.

"Hey, sis. Want to take a ride in a rusted death-trap that may catch fire in mid-drive?"

"Oh _awesome!_"

* * *

Daria arrived home to find obnoxiously loud music blaring out of the top floor – Quinn had arrived home safe then. And outside...

Outside was the sleek red sports car of her Aunt Amy.

She hurried inside, catching the sound of the cordial-yet-bitchy tones her mother and aunt were so well practiced in.

"Still trying to find little green men, I take it?"

"I think they're hiding in your hair."

"Oh, I should really change it someday – I like yours, Amy, so... sensible. It almost doesn't suit you!"

"Hey, some of us can just pull these looks off. Not like some other p- Daria!"

Both adults turned round, big "we get on!" grins on their faces. Her mother had gone with a pin-adorned bomber jacket with green tight pants to go with her hair; Amy had trendy specs and a sensible hair style, in complete contrast to the faded Mars Attacks! T-shirt and mucky sneakers and the digital camera under her arm.

"Aunt Amy's going to be staying overnight! Isn't that great?"

"Sick Sad World sent me," said Amy, a look of glee on her face. "On Friday night, I'm doing a live web pay-view show searching for the monstrous Metalmouth! I've been pushing for this for a long time, it's going to be – oh, but I'm forgetting."

Amy took out her camera and pointed it at Daria. "This is Amy Barksdale, reporting live as we ask Daria Patti Morgendorffer: how's school going?"

Daria cleared her throat and put on her best monotone. "Well, Ms Barksdale, although no one official is prepared to comment, off-the-record sources are calling it 'sucky'. A state than can only be described as apathy in the USA reigns at Lawndale High. Though no names can be named, a quarterback was heard suggesting the Vietnam War took place between America and Mexico."

"Can you confirm if the CDC has made any rulings on the cafeteria food?"

"The surviving agent was heard to remark that he was going to be violently and copiously sick."

"Has this young lady been driven to monotone by the pressures of school life, or is Lawndale High _replacing its students with androids?_ Alienation of the Body Snatchers when Sick Sad World returns!" Amy turned the camera towards the stairs as Quinn came down to the kitchen. "And now, breaking news: is Maryland about to _succumb_ to a wave of _juvenile delinquency_?"

"I swear, I wasn't _anywhere near_ Cafe Lawndale at the time and I've got an alibi-" Quinn blinked, realising this wasn't a TV reporter. "Oh, hey Aunt Amy."

* * *

Dinner was the usual mess of eating with mouths full and elbows on table and bits of food going everywhere, though Helen seemed to be doing it more so in the hope it'd offend Amy. No such luck.

"So how's Morgendorffer Consulting going, Jake?" asked Amy.

"Awww, no camera?" He sounded disappointed. "I like reporting to the camera..."

"Food stains never clean off. Daria mentioned in her emails that you're helping a band?"

"Trent..." said Quinn in a dreamy voice.

"_Two_ bands! I got Mystic Spiral _and_ the Harpies, and I'm in talks with Fetal Metal! Getting a few clients in Dega Street too, that's where all us cool, counter-culture badasses hang out, living on the _edge_! Any more guacamole? Made it myself!"

"Business is doing well, though not quite as well as we'd hoped..." Helen sighed, then fixed her daughters with a resolute stare. "Girls, you'll remember we were able to move thanks to Eric Schrecter's law firm..."

"It was very cruel of you to act interested in an affair and then, once you'd been hired, reveal yourself to be a family woman who wouldn't take calls during dinner," said Daria. "Between that and turning up to the work with your punk hair without warning, and anyone would think you were gouging him."

"Well, his firm shouldn't be such capitalist pigs if they don't want to get ripped off," said Helen pleasantly. "Anyway, that helped us get a house that we wouldn't otherwise be able to afford, but because we're still building up our client bases here... well, we're taking on lodgers to cover expenses."

"Shouldn't be too bad," said Quinn, "unless it's someone really lame and establishment, like cousin Erin or something."

Daria watched her mother's face fall. "When did you get ESP, Quinn?"

"Oh come on, it's not my time of the month."

"Yes, alright, it's going to be Erin and that... _fiancé _of hers. It's just temporary until they get married, and it'll be a bit of extra cash. They're arriving tomorrow, after Amy leaves: I'd have told you girls sooner but until this morning Rita and Mother were all over the place about whether their _precious snowflake_ should be _allowed_ near us in case she _catches_ something."

"I see bitter people," said Amy, "sitting at tables like regular people."

At that point, Jake's phone went off. He frowned and checked the ID... and kept frowning.

"I'll take it upstairs."

He was gone for a while and there were angry yells from time to time, and when he came down he had a false smile on his face.

"Amy, Helen, could I talk to you upstairs for a second?"

"What's that about?" Quinn asked as the adults left. "God, I hope it's not the pigs about Cafe Lawndale..."

When the adults came back down, Amy opened with a bold: "Hey, Daria, how'd you like to go out into the woods with me on Friday night, looking for a murderous urban legend and possibly die live on the Internet?"

Daria thought that over.

"Can I bring a friend?"

* * *

On the way out on Friday, Quinn was corralled by her parents.

"Quinn, Erin's going to be coming into town after school lets out. It'd be very helpful to us if you met her in town and showed her around."

"And remember, your cousin didn't have the same advantages you and Daria did: loud music, rocking out, and partying are going to scare her. Bear that in mind."

"I will," said Quinn, looking utterly angelic and trustworthy.

* * *

Getting into school meant going through the outside metal detectors and past the drug-sniffer dogs, under the camera eyes of Li Brother. This gave Daria and Jane some time to chat.

"After school, I'm going off with my aunt to risk our lives looking for a mythical serial killer. You want to come with?"

"Oh, Metalmouth? No way that's true. Waste of your time."

"What _is_ a Metalmouth?"

"Well, the claim is this metalwork teacher had to deal with students who were _so dumb_, he ground his teeth in frustration so often _they were worn away to nothing_. Driven mad by the attempts to teach class with a slobbery lisp, he made a set of fanged metal dentures… only to find out, too late, that they were picking up radio signals. He ran away into the woods… but then, later, a car with two necking teenagers-"

"Isn't this just the hook-for-a-hand legend but with an elaborate backstory?"

"Better. Metalmouth's presence is signified by the sound of Girls Just Want To Have Fun – and it's always that specific song – playing _where no radio is turned on!_"

"They replaced the hook-in-the-door with teeth in the door out of sheer laziness, didn't they?"

"Yeah. Maybe he has to open doors with his mouth. He could've lost his hands when trying to pick food out of his teeth."

"Well, if you want, Aunt Amy says you can come. You could be on Sick Sad World."

Jane stiffened, and turned to Daria with growing shock.

"You're related _to Awesomely Amy Barksdale?_"

"You're in now, aren't you."

"Her book on Mothman was definitive," said Jane, her voice a hallowed whisper.

Up ahead, the metal detectors screamed in agony as Andrea entered them. Steve, head security guard, sighed.

"You've got a new piercing, haven't you?" he asked.

"Maybe."

To Daria's surprise, Amy turned up at the school. Jane fell into stunned mutterings at the very sight of her.

"I thought I'd be meeting you at home."

"Why waste time walking home to leave it when you can waste time sitting in a muddy field instead?" Amy looked over at Jane. "So you're the famous Jane Lane, eh?"

"_mblmblmbl hi"_

"So this is Lawndale High, eh?" Amy asked, her eyes taking in the cameras and metal detectors and motion detectors. "Wow. I'd heard rumours, but even I thought they couldn't be real. Ever find any serious dirt out here, Ess-Ess-Doubleyou wants to know!"

"The drug sniffer dogs are quite friendly, at least. Which is unfortunate, because they're not meant to be friendly around the stoners."

"Happens more than you think – we did an ep on that back in 05. What was the tagline for that…"

"Man's Best Mate… On The Take?" Jane spoke up, in an eerie simulation of the SSW narrator. "Sniffer dogs sniffing out kickbacks: a Sick Sad World expose, next!"

"Impressive!"

"_mblmblmbl thanks"_

"Jane liked your Mothman book."

"Oh yeah, that was fun. Random House contracted to do some more – I can send you two a copy of the chupacabra one in December if you'd like!"

Jane paled, and her reply was so quiet only bats could hear it.

"I apologise for my friend, Aunt Amy. It must be difficult trying to get a word in edgewise."

* * *

Erin had been on edge all day, and that was nothing compared to Brian – he'd only ever _heard _of Aunt Helen's family, and from Mother and _Grandma_. From his tense posture in the car, he appeared to be expecting to be murdered and his corpse looted. (Erin just expected looting.)

It was far from ideal, but with Brian losing his job with the government – he complained a lot about Obama's "damage" to the intelligence community, though Erin suspected he just hadn't been doing well and the new bosses had noticed – and still studying for his real estate exam, they had little income. And Mother and Brian's finances had been hit by the recession, so no help there…

"I'm sure they've mellowed out over time, dear," she said. "Lawndale's a nice place, after all."

"Sure," he muttered, focusing on the drive and keeping an eye out. "Where did Helen say Quinn would be meeting us?"

"High Hills Park, near the school – oh look, next turning here…"

They turned and reached the park, and waiting for them was a boombox screaming the most profane song Erin had _ever heard_. Quinn was around it, dancing… horribly to the song in leather and chains, while around her were ten equally foul hellions looking moody and one fat girl was _drinking_.

Brian locked the doors.

Quinn caught sight of the car and smiled, dangerously. "HEY COUSIN ERIN! HAVE WE GOT A TOUR FOR **YOU!**"

* * *

Amy's car sped to the outskirts of town, making a mockery of all speed laws.

"…and this isn't the _first_ time the Sick Sad Multimedia Empire has focused on Lawndale! The Satanists around High Hills, the House of Bad Grades, the 'Holidays' turning up for Chinese food… This is one happening town! Right Jane?"

"_mblmblmbl it'sokay"_

"Anything about brain-eating aliens?" asked Daria. "That would explain a lot about our quarterback."

"You told me about him, _nothing_ explains _him_."

At the sight of the woods, Amy took the car off road with a screech of protesting tyres, just coming to a halt before hitting a tree.

"Here's how it works – we set up the motion-activated flashes around the car, that's our safety precaution – fit the webcams up in those trees and on that rock and in the window, give us 360 vision, and we set the broadband up _here_ – laptop stays here… and then we just wait to get attacked!"

"Run that last part by me again. I think it could be improved."

"_mblmblmbl changedmymind"_

_

* * *

_

"…and this is one of the _best_ shops in Dega Street, 420 – the guy grows his own pot in the basement, and we totally get _discounts_ if we buy more than three items!"

"That's… that's nice of him, Quinn…"

"And this is the tattoo and piercing parlour, come on, Andrea can show you all the _cool _places to get pierced!"

* * *

Jake wouldn't even sit. He just stood, ramrod straight, not allowing himself any relief.

"The girls are out, that's the important part," said Helen gently.

"I hate doing this."

"I know, sweetie."

The doorbell rang. Jack moved on automatic, reaching the door and pulling it open like a robot.

"Hi, Mum. Mad Dog."

* * *

"Attention, entities of the interweb! This is Awesomely Amy, coming to you from the Lawndale woods – the sun is setting and we're starting up the webcams around us! Stay tuned, for Metalmouth could attack _at any moment!_ Dare YOU go to the bathroom and miss the scene?"

She disconnected the webcam and smiled. "They'll be peeing in soda bottles if I know our audience. Everyone into the car, don't want to be too tempting a target!"

"Should we smoke pot and take our clothes off, or will the serial killer find us on his own?" asked Daria.

"Well I hope on his own, or I've wasted a night."

The women got in, Amy immediately checking her laptop to see what the message board feedback was.

"Ah yep, there's already a poll about whether I'll get eaten. So how is school going, Daria? Y'know, the bits you don't want to say in front of the 'rents."

Daria shrugged. "The school's… 'special', like Beavis and Butt-head. The security is insane, half the teachers are incompetent and the ones that are competent are being driven to despair, and the bulk of the students are idiots. Still better than Highland High though. Quinn, of course, fit in immediately with her inability to fit in."

"Ah, it's up to you to keep things real, eh?" smirked Amy. "Because I dunno, you've got at least one friend that's not from the internet…"

"_mblmblmbl Daria's cool"_

"Well, yeah, there's Jane and Tom. That's about it. A few other kids are pretty smart, but 'Upchuck' is trying to be the second coming of Larry Flynt, Jodie Landon is repeating far-right talking points with terrified desperation, the chess club think my voice comes out of my boobs, and Mack… Actually, Mack seems completely normal with no strange habits or behaviour. We have nothing in common."

"And you sound very upset about it. Only not, the other thing."

"You have to be comfortable with who you are. I'm antisocial and just like having a handful of close friends while standing apart from everyone else. I'm fine with that."

"How about you, Jane?"

"_mblmblmbl I dunno"_

"Besides, I don't need to be sociable and outgoing. Quinn does that for us both."

* * *

"…EVERY night is like this at the Zon, it's AWESOME!" yelled Quinn over the deafening roar of ferocious music, while taking part in a gigantic mosh.

The mosh had already sent one of her gang to the corner with a bloody nose and bruised face, screaming "YEEEAAAHHHHHHH!".

Brian and Erin stood there, surrounded by darkness and unknown stains, their conservative and lightly-coloured clothes marking them out as Not Of This World.

"It's, um… a charming place," said Erin nervously.

Then someone vomited on Brian's shoes.

Brian punched them.

"Oh ROCK!" Quinn turned to Andrea and Dave. "Hey guys, there's a fight!"

"Rule! _INTO 'EM!_"

* * *

Mad Dog was ancient: a wizened, spitting figure that should have died long ago but seemed to live thanks to pure hate. He was refusing to sit. Standing, clad in a severe grey suit, he displayed power and might.

Jake stared him down, every muscle clenched tight.

"I do apologise," he said. "It turns out the girls had other commitments that they couldn't drop. I'm afraid you've made the journey for nothing."

"Well isn't that convenient," snarled Mad Dog, spittle flying from his lips. "You always did have to sneak around-"

"YOU-"

Helen put her arm on Jake's shoulder, silencing him. "You did call us at the last minute, we couldn't have got the girls to set time aside now could we? I'm very sorry, Ruth."

Ruth Morgendorffer – a frail, passive lady – sighed. "It really is a shame. It's been so long since we've seen them. How old is little Daria now?"

"Just turned sixteen, she's doing very well in school. Well, she always did."

"And what have you done to the other?" asked Mad Dog.

Ruth gasped and jerked her arm, as if she wanted to gesture for him to be silent and then lost her nerve. "Dear, _please_-"

"Quinn's making friends," said Jake, his voice eerily flat. "She's doing us proud."

"That hardly comforts me, boy."

"Helen, didn't you want to get Mum's advice on the guest bedroom?"

"Oh yes! Ruth, I'm no good with conventional decorations, if you could give me the benefit of your advice…"

The women left. The two men stood, facing each other down.

Mad Dog broke the silence first. "Well? Admit it. You've deliberately sent your daughters away because you knew we were coming."

"No. Because I knew _you_ were coming."

* * *

Daria's belch filled the car, unstoppable in its clamour.

"Okay, okay, you win!" said Amy.

"You don't live with my family without picking up a trick or two."

Without warning, a tremendous, thundering roar of a burp struck everyone down, emitting from deep within Jane.

Amy and Daria stared at her in shock, and she blushed.

"I hung out with my brother's band a few times…"

"So this is what Sick Sad World's field reporters do when they're waiting, is it?"

"Not always. Some of the guys see who can fart out the national anthem. I think we did an episode about it once."

"In that case, if Metalmouth does show up, we can threaten him with the knowledge that" _girls just wanna have fu-un_ "…oh no."

* * *

"They're my granddaughters, my flesh and blood – and the only hope I have of you producing _anything_ right. And you're _wrecking_ them." Mad Dog always looked angry but there was also horror in his eyes. "You've turned your youngest into a spitting-image of your own id's and your eldest, well…"

"You didn't come here out of the blue, did you?"

"Tt. Mrs Barksdale called me – she has the same views and she was _very_ worried about what she'd been hearing recently. We agreed I should come. I wanted to see if they could be turned around."

Jake was silent for a while, and then he said: "Do you remember why we stopped letting you visit?"

"Because I said the things you didn't want to _hear _about how you were raising those girls! Edie Barksdale too, you just can't-"

"You made Daria upset." Jake leaned forwards, and there was something burning in his eyes. "She always a very quiet girl so it wasn't immediately obvious, but she sure seemed quieter after you or Edie visited. And then this one time, we'd been called into school because she was having problems and after we talked to her afterwards, she admitted you'd been saying things to her."

Mad Dog didn't flinch. "I told her she needed to behave properly. Skulking around, refusing to talk to people, read rather than look at you-"

"She likes reading. She likes quiet. As for why she skulked and didn't want to talk, it's because you told her 'to behave properly' – half the time she talked to you or Edie, she felt _ashamed_. Like she was _wrong_ in some way. Just for being quiet. She once admitted she thought we felt that way."

Jake grabbed a nearby beer bottle and threw it against the wall in one sudden, fluid motion. He didn't look at the impact.

"You're not getting to see Daria. You're not getting to see Quinn. You're not getting to tell another child that they're worthless and wrong, you understand? I wish they could see their grandmother, I truly do, but she won't come without you and they are _never_ going to see _you again_, do you _hear me_, **they won't even BE AT YOUR FUNERAL!**"

And the old man shrank back, wondering who this stranger was in front of him.

"I think we're done here, Mad Dog. Don't you?"

* * *

_That's all they really waa-aa-aant_

Sudden terror shot through Daria as she realised what she was actually facing.

"Jane, I-"

Every flash went off at once, turning night into day. As the girls shrank from the light, Amy jumped out of the car with a taser in hand and pointed it grimly at… nothing.

"Huh. That can't have just been a false _oh my god look at this!"_

Slowly, the girls crept out of the car.

Embedded in the front door was a pair of fanged steel dentures.

"Oh cool," said Jane.

* * *

It had gone midnight by the time Erin and Brian reached the Morgendorffer house. Quinn was giggling over something and Brian was a little battered from the fight (though he had won, so it wasn't all bad), and Erin had a fixed grin on her face.

"Well, here we are! We'll be quiet, Aunt Helen and Uncle Jake are probably asleep-"

The front door opened, Jake staggered out, and yelled "IN YOUR FACE OLD MAN BLEEEEEUUUUURRRRGGGGHHH"

Helen drunkenly patted him as he spewed. "That's right, Snakey, you just get it aaaaaaaall out…"

Erin paused, then turned back to Brian. "You haven't met Daria yet! Daria's very normal, honest, she's absolutely-"

Aunt Amy's car pulled up, and Daria, Amy, and some other girl emerged singing the Imperial March. Daria had an inflatable UFO on a stick attached to her head.

"Hey, job's over, mind if me and Janey here crash?" called out Amy. "I'll let you touch the serial killer's severed teeth!"

"Sure thing!" called Jake happily, before vomiting again.

Daria waved out Erin. "Hi, cousin Erin. Want a UFO? Amy's got some spares in the trunk."

She didn't even bother replying, just stood there with a defeated expression.

"Oh, you must be Brian. Welcome to the family, Brian. Abandon hope all ye who enter."

END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This version of Amy comes from Brian Taylor's Moving Pictures fanfic, which is being used as background – a teenaged Amy in the 1980s being into sci-fi and interacting with the world from behind a video camera, the last present from her father before his death. A Fortean reporter was the inevitable result…

Jodie's political status was an idea thrown out by The Angst Guy and you'll see her veeeery soon…


	4. Melody Powers to the People

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 4: Melody Power To The People**

She sat in darkness lit only by monitors, a spider in a vast electronic web. The suspects were entering the area again. They had to be watched. Only she stood against the terrorists, the drug dealers, the gangstas, the smokers, and the people who put gum under the seats, stood between them and Laaaawndale High.

Li tapped a button and Camera 12's image covered the screen; a push of the controller and it zoomed in on one Daria Morgendorffer.

"You're well behaved and intelligent, Ms Morgendorffer," she told the screen. "And _that_ was what gave you away! Oh, you're going to be trouble, I know it – but I'm got my eye on you, I've got my eye on _oh my god_-"

She grabbed the security phone, already screaming her commands before the guards had picked it up: _"Scarlet alert! Individual with a suspicious bag approaching the entrance – POSSIBLE TERRORIST!"_

* * *

The guards, faces obscured by hastily donned gas masks, surrounded Mohammed with their tasers drawn. The boy sighed and dropped the sports rucksack on the floor.

"Hey Steve," he said to the lead guard.

"Hey," replied Steve, his voice muffled by the mask.

"It's my Gym gear. Just like it is _every_ day I have Gym."

"The damn screen on this mask has steamed up again, can someone else check the bag?"

Daria stood watching this display with her mouth open. She turned to Jane, remarking: "Please tell me there's a logical reason why Li started doing that."

"Mohammed came into school one day with a T-shirt saying 'Bummer'."

"Well, that's logical for Li. I'd say I was amazed everyone accepted it, but Li ruled this whole country in spirit for eight years and everyone went along with it then too. I'm not sure if we're 1984 or Brave New World here..."

At that point, the Fashion Club – Sandi Griffin, Elsie Sloane, Tiffany Blum-Deckler and Stacy Rowe – walked past, engrossed in philosophical discussion:

"We HAVE to confront Brittany on this, Sandi, I'm telling you – one of her cheerleaders was wearing PLAID. I mean, what's up with that? Even public schools should have more taste!"

"Eeeeewwwwwwww."

"Too true, Elsie dear – though Brittany may be incapable of grasping the severity. All that exercise must have gone to their heads. And all those muscles they develop, ewww."

"I'm so glad I'm not a cheerleader, they work too hard – I'm so glad I'm in the Fashion Club instead!"

Daria blinked as they walked. "Ah. Brave New World it is."

"But we don't have soma to drug us into a state of narcotic, sleepy bliss," said Jane.

"We have O'Neill's soothing voice and Maths class."

"Ahhhh."

* * *

O'Neill's class was particularly soothing that day, as he tried to discuss the news media without touching on any potentially touchy or upsetting subjects. His deliberate vagueness helped Daria get a well-earned nap in.

"Anyway, erm, we have a few minutes left, would anyone like to discuss any of the issues or their thoughts from today's lesson?"

Nobody moved.

"Oh dear. Erm... Jodie! How about you?"

Jodie Landon looked up. "Well, I think you've done the class a disservice by not touching on the pervasive liberal bias and stranglehold on the traditional news media."

"The great liberal bias of wanting to make lots of money," said Daria, earning herself a sharp look from Jodie. "We all remember Marx's seminal Yay Kapital."

"See? The bias is so pervasive that people don't realise it _exists_! People need to be educated."

"You just snarked yourself so I don't have to."

"This is just _typical_ of the left, you have to put down and smear and insult everyone because you can't put up an argument-"

"The larger members of the American news media uniformly reported President Bush's views on Iraq as clear fact, rarely questioning them or any of the shady backroom deals," said Daria, her voice flat. "This is despite the fact that foreign news media agencies were pointing out the problems, including large media organs in other coalition partners. Today, the American news media contains many stories pointing out mistakes made by and flaws inherent in the Obama administration. Much of news media is owned by a few companies, all large and wealthy and obviously not run by Berkley hippies. And fourth-"

"So _that's_ why Daria sits on the left side of the room!" exclaimed Kevin, his brain catching up with Jodie's last remarks. "Oh, wait, bummer – _I'm_ near the left too! Does that mean I have to move?"

The bell rang, and Mr O'Neill gave a great sigh of relief. "Oh dear that's all we have time for! See you tomorrow, class!"

As the students trooped out, Jodie pointedly ignoring Daria, the teacher called the misfit over. For a brief minute she thought she was going to get a stern talking to until she remembered it was O'Neill and it'd just be a talking. (_That's bad enough_, she thought)

"Daria, it's... well, I've been reading some of your essays and Language Arts submissions-"

"This is about the Ebola story, isn't it."

The teacher briefly shuddered. "N-No... It's just you've quite the talent for writing – not that you need me to tell you that, of course! I was wondering, have you thought about joining our school newspaper, the Lawndale Lowdown? You'd do great work there, I think! And you'd be able to make some friends!"

She was about to snipe at him for that last remark when she realised – newspapers meant journalism. Journalism meant getting to investigate and show everyone what you found. Investigating Li—

"I'll do it."

* * *

The Lowdown staff met after school, working out of O'Neill's room. It brought out the odd print copy but was primarily online, mainly for budget reasons. Since its website was linked to the school's own, Daria knew any investigation she did would have to be sneaked into the print copy - and at the last moment, when nobody was looking, so it'd be in print before anybody could raise a finger. But she could be patient. She knew how to plan.

And then she entered the room and found out Jodie was editor.

_I should have known to make a Plan B._

"Daria," said Jodie, her voice brittle. "I didn't really expect you to want to join. You never struck me as the... contributing type."

"Well, we may have our political differences, but I'm sure we _both_ support the principles of journalism!" She grinned, a difficult act.

"But there's nothing happening at the school except sports and gossip, which you hate," said Jodie, looking confused. "Wait a minute. You don't plan to smear Ms Li for trying to keep the school safe and call that journalism, are you? I've had people try that before."

"...oh, perish the thought."

"We have feature slots, if you want to pitch something."

Daria shut her eyes for a brief second and breathed deeply, trying to think of a reply that wouldn't be full of swearing. And then it occurred to her that Jodie have given her an opportunity: an opportunity for a really _petty_ and childish bit of revenge.

"Do you ever publish short stories?"

* * *

_Melody Powers eased her catsuited form into the chair, her long jet-black hair tossed over her shoulder. She was always relaxing, for there would be time enough in kill-or-die combat to be serious._

Joe Plumer, the head of the Central Intelligence Agency, cut straight to the point: a no-nonsense, straight-shooting mid-westerner. "We thought OAK were destroyed but they're reorganising in San Francisco – we have intelligence reports of them courting funding from the sex trade, the Mexican narco-cartels, Cordoba House..."

Melody raised a dainty eyebrow at the last one. "Iran?"

"If it's not the PRC, it's Iran. The President is ignorant of that angle, he's just hoping to use OAK as a proxy to create a socialist uprising on the city streets. His pet senators and judges are already trying to push through his Youth Hope Brigade crap into being compulsory, and once those guys are on the streets on SanFran any opposition to OAK is dead. You have to take out the community organisers before they're done!"

Melody had spent the last two years of her career quietly neutralising threats to America who were from America itself. Plumer would never let her take out the President himself, the principle was too horrific to contemplate, but until 2012 there would be no stopping the Red tide. Her beloved country was on a knife-edge.

"I've got a contact on the ground, a private eye – PI Staker should be able to help me figure it out..."

Daria stopped typing and made a note to include Kenya as a hostile foreign power too.

* * *

Meals had gotten strange since cousin Erin and her fiancé Brian had moved in. Jake and Helen were actually using table manners. (Quinn refused to) There was even discussion that didn't involve (much) swearing. Weirdest of all, with Erin around, someone was talking about a normal 9 to 5 job.

"...and the manager said if I keep getting us that many clients, I'm eligible for fast-track promotion to _junior management_ in Sales! It really is a surprise to me, I'm just being myself really."

"It's a good career, Sales, many... opportunities to move up," said Helen cautiously, restraining her usual 'screw the man' rhetoric.

"These clients you keep getting," asked Daria. "They wouldn't happen to be men that sound middle-aged, are they?"

"You're right, Daria, they usually are. I wonder why that is?" wondered the perky, demure-sounding young woman.

"Isn't she a _pip_!" smarmed Brian. "Great little career she's got going, eh? Course, once _I've_ passed my real estate exam, we're back to good ol' man-the-breadwinner, am I right? It's a tough exam, but I'm really knocking the hell outta the subject!"

"What's a housing cooperative?" asked Daria.

Brian froze. Then he said: "So, young Daria! How's school going?"

"We're studying the news media in English. We learnt how people duck journalist's questions."

"Aww, I remember when you used to work on the school paper in Highland," said Jake. "You were really great!"

"I was kicked off it because my first act as Fashion Reporter was to get Beavis and Butt-head inside the girl's changing rooms, to get their views of current underwear fashions."

"I know! Gonzo journalism, _rad_!"

"No interest in the Lawndale school paper, sweetie?" asked Helen. "It seems like it'd be just your thing."

"Maybe you'll see me in there, and maybe you won't..."

"Print is _dead_!" yelled Quinn, figuring out a way to join the conversation. "Old media for old people! **** the old! Down with corporate controlled press! The revolution will be _Youtubed!_"

"And have lots of comments about it making gay jokes."

* * *

After dinner, Daria finished off the remains of "Melody Powers and the Communist Organisers", and did a quick scan to make sure all the plot points were as stupid as possible. After that, it was time for a brief surf of the SSW boards (she was kicking ass on the Caption Contest).

TheNoticeablyFAT had posted a link to another "TOTALLY AWESOME" blog, because the day had a Y in it. Daria would have ignored it – FAT had yesterday linked to a blog that was just photos of someone's pet mouse sleeping – but the blog's name, "The Angry Teacher", perked her interest.

The Angry Teacher's current entry was a furious rant about football players being given byes on their history tests, even though they were plainly ignorant of everything on it. Or, as the blog said, "IGNORANT of even WHAT YEAR that PEARL HARBOR took place!". It especially focused on "Quarterback".

Alarm bells ringing, Daria checked further and saw the teacher worked as "Grassdale".

"Huh. Just when you think you know a man."

On impulse, she searched the entry from yesterday – the day she'd made a very sarcastic comment about the occupation of the Philippines – and found the blog referred to a girl called Dire. Dire's "RELENTLESS jibes", according to the Angry Teacher, were "starting to GROW on me" and he quite liked her response to Quarterback's confusion.

That made Daria's night.

* * *

Daria had emailed Melody Powers to the Lawndale Lowdown address before going to bed, and spent the first two periods at school eagerly awaiting Jodie's reaction.

"Every member of a local workers union turn out to be armed KGB sleeper agents," she told Jane and Tom. "_Muslim convert_ sleeper agents. Helping illegal immigrants pass through on their way to raid suburbs."

"Does Melody eat any Irish babies?" asked Tom.

"I knew I forgot something."

"You're not going to be allowed to _read_ the Lowdown from now on, never mind contribute to it," said Jane.

"What can I say? Tacit support of Big Brother just brings out the bitch in me."

"Everything brings out the bitch in you."

Jodie soon found them, and Daria felt a brief surge of triumph. And then it went surging down the drains as she noticed Jodie looked _happy_.

"Daria, that story was _brilliant_."

Her mouth hung open. After a second, Jane pushed it shut.

"It's going into the new issue and I'm uploading that issue especially early, just for that short story! It's fast, pacey stuff, you've really got the format down pat! Everyone will love it."

Daria still didn't speak.

"I'll ask Li about a regular slot for Melody Powers, this feature could run and run. Quite surprising, really – I don't think anyone at school would have ever thought _you_ felt that way about things! Anyway, I'll see you around."

Silence reigned after Jodie left before Daria muttered "I think I've miscalculated."

* * *

_As Melody sun-bathed on the Rio beach, she looked back upon the past few days with a certain quiet satisfaction: twenty three dead Commies, nine dead terrorists, twelve dead illegals. Freedom still reigned in America, she reflected while watching Tonio's exquisite chest rise and fall with his light snoring._

_Freedom still reigned, or did it? For as she watched, Tonio – not hearing his demise, and soon nothing ever again – exploded into a red spray, impacted by a grenade launcher. Immediately alert, Melody scanned the sand… but saw only a Hispanic family sunbathing._

_Or at least, they appeared to be an American family… _

Kevin tracked Daria down after school, a huge grin on his gormless face. "WHOA! Daria, Melody Powers is the most awesome thing I have _ever read!_ It's… it's even more awesome than _Ratboy!_"

"High praise indeed."

"Man, I never knew the President was a Kenyan Communist Party plant! The things you learn, huh?"

Daria looked at him, aghast. "Kevin, _I made that up_."

"Ohhhhh." He scratched his head. "But illegal immigrants are working for Iran, right? Hey, Daria, where are you going? Was it something I said?"

* * *

Pizza King proved no respite, for many students ate there and it seemed every single one was now a Melody Powers fan and was desperate to read the promised sequel Operation Batter Juarez. She even overheard one of the Three J's using Melody's "Hope and change THIS!" catchphrase before he crushed a beer can against his head.

"I thought my plan was foolproof but I underestimated the power of the determined fool," Daria muttered, face down against the table.

Tom patted her sympathetically. "We can lie and tell you the story sucked if it makes you feel better."

"Oh yeah, the story totally blew," said Jane between bites. "Worst story ever. It sucks so bad it's turning into a black hole. It's so bad it's going to become part of the Language Arts curriculum."

"Thanks," said Daria.

"I actually liked it," said Tom.

"Yes, but you and Jane are smart people and can thus grasp that if there is a character called Piss-taker and another called Joe Plumber, it may not be serious."

"Well, yeah, the satire was pretty funny, but the violence and sex were pretty fun too. I'd like to read more of Melody, honestly."

"So my fatal flaw was I didn't try to suck. Joy."

"You're cursed to be good at things," said Jane with mock-sadness. "Your kind will never fit in at Lawndale, we'll have to run you out of town."

All in all, things were pretty bad – and that's when Jodie turned up, smiling like a cat that had inherited a dairy farm.

"Daria, I'm so glad I found you!" she exclaimed. "The Lowdown website has started to get hits from IP's we've never seen before – all going to your story! News about it has spread to the Internet, it's going to be huge! Ms Li even asked me to give you whatever you want in order to get you to write more!"

Slowly, Daria sat up. Her face and posture remained their normal bland selves, but her eyes burned with anger.

"Jodie. You're not stupid. I therefore assume you know Melody Powers was a deliberate insult."

"Well, yeah. But you think anyone else in school will?"

"This is petty revenge then."

"You're hardly in a position to complain about _that_."

"And I'm assuming that 'whatever I want' doesn't actually mean 'whatever I want'."

"When you want to use the school paper to rake up muck against the school and its faculty? Come on, Daria, you really thought that'd fly?" Jodie sneered. "I'm sure you had a plan to get around the obvious obstacles, but you're not getting past me. The paper's not for undermining the school."

"Silly me. I thought the press was about the news. What was that you were saying before about bias?"

The atmosphere chilled. Jodie got her face under control, but the brief glimpse of rage showed that a nerve had been touched. And that, Daria knew, was the only thing she could do.

"I'll see you back at the Lowdown, Daria – if and when Li 'convinces' you to write more."

Jodie stalked off, leaving Daria beaten.

* * *

The next day, Melody Powers had stormed across the Internet and the blogosphere had found out. Worse still, SSW-MB had found out, and Daria had to send panicked Private Messages to the board members who knew her real name, reaffirming that it was satire. Unfortunately, it seemed the story was a hit on every single Tea Party related board and blog.

Worse, The Angry Teacher had a rant about the "INSIPID RAG that dares call itself a NEWSPAPER" and a short story in it that "ANY idiot" could have seen would be used as propaganda. That hurt.

Worse still, Daria found out Adult already had two pornographic fics of Melody up already.

* * *

At school, the line for the entrance was stalled – Mohammed had Gym class again that day. He could be overheard joking to Steve "are you Melody Powers or something?". Grrr.

As Daria waited in line, Quinn and her gang pushed through to her. They didn't look friendly.

"I'm not going to tell Mum and Dad, but if you write any fascist junk like that again-"

"You'll glass me?"

"…I was going to say twat you, but hey, that's _much_ more punk! Andrea, keep your empties!"

"Gah _dammit_," muttered Daria as the gang wandered off. "Can this get any worse?"

* * *

When Daria's class entered Language Arts, O'Neill took one look at her and ran out the class crying and did not come back.

"So you see, it's not all bad," remarked Jane.

* * *

"…and SO, your weekend homework is to write an essay about PROPAGANDA-"

That had been the original lesson plan, Daria knew, but DeMartino was being abnormally gleeful about it.

After the lesson, profoundly irritated, Daria went up to his desk and snapped: "I've already done this assignment, can I have my A Plus now?"

"Ms MORGendorffer, I HAD to give that assignment – not my fault I LOVED it!"

"You know, this whole thing started because I wanted to _do_ something about Li and the state of this school, and when that was blocked I thought I'd at least have fun at power's expense. Well, I've learnt my lesson: my parents were wrong, you _can't_ fight 'the man'."

She stormed off, but as she was about to leave the room she heard the teacher say "wait", sounding chastised. She stopped, but didn't turn around.

"I _apologise_. I know you _didn't_ intend for things to turn out _that_ way."

"If I'd just bitched and not tried to do anything, I'd have saved myself a lot of grief."

"I have never told _anyone_ this but… when I was YOUNGER, I was a NEO-HIPPIE."

She hadn't expected _that._

"I went to MILITARY school and before those TWISTED years, I'd seen the rise of HIPPIE counter-culture. I MISSED the decline of it in military school, so it remained in MY mind as the symbol of REBELLION. The MODERN subcultures didn't interest me." He sighed. "YEARS of thinking I could stand OUTSIDE the system… and the system WON. Student DEBT piles up, Daria."

"If you're telling me I should keep trying, you're going the wrong way about it," she said, hoping the sarcasm would push away the image of her teacher as a broken, human man.

"I'm head of the teacher's UNION, and I BLOG about my frustrations, and SOMETIMES – those few GLORIOUS times – I may manage to plant IDEAS into the head of a STUDENT. You make the difference you CAN, by taking into account your ABILITIES and what you're UP AGAINST."

DeMartino fixed her with a glare. "YOU are up against a power that SURROUNDS you at school. But YOUR abilities are great, and you'll learn how to USE them."

She didn't say thank you. She couldn't. Talking would have broken the spell.

* * *

That night, after a lot of thought, Daria started to work on a wiki site. She had the name, "Lawndale Leaks", and she had her alias, and she had the host and the programming skills, and she had the contacts on SSW-MB to get the word out.

All she needed now was the dirt, because she didn't know it all. Luckily, she had Tom and Jane on speed-dial and those two knew their dirt.

First article for the wiki: Ms Li's "counter-terrorism" obsession…

END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Jodie as hardcore right wing and Li being overly paranoid of a Muslim student comes from ideas by The Angst Guy. Lawndale Leaks was thought up and done before the US State Dept cable leaks and Assange's sex crime allegations, which would've provided extra joke fodder otherwise. Daria's Highland reporter job is from _Beavis and Butt-head_ episode Sporting Goods; there, her parents made her join the paper and she was forced to be the fashion reporter because "_I'm_ a _girl!_"; punkverse Daria clearly didn't put up with this…

DeMartino as a neo-hippie comes from The Daria Diaries, where his singles ad says he used to be a beatnik – a subculture that had been replaced by the wider counter-culture in the sixties, when he'd have been a teenager. Cue a frantic search on Wikipedia to find something equally out-of-date for the 80's…


	5. And the Mall Won

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Ep 5: And The Mall Won**

Just twelve years ago, it had been a shining dream: the Mall of the Millennium, third largest shopping centre in the world, a Byzantine and crass monument to capitalism in all its terrible glory.

The recession had not been kind. A third of the shops were boarded-up and the rest clung to grim life by their fingertips. The scant shoppers could _smell_ the desperation. Jake had been in full punk gear and _still_ the businessman clothing store (Suits You!) had sent staff to ask him if he'd ever thought of owning a tie, because they had a HALF PRICE SALE! on.

Communists must flock there to masturbate.

He eventually found Food Court A in Area D, Section Forest, at the top floor. A dozen or so desperate shop owners were waiting for him as he turned up, hunger in their eyes.

"Sorry I'm…" He checked his watch, gulped, and just said "…late, everyone! Boy, that map's a doooooozy! Anyway, let's get things into _gear_, have the meeting at Curry By Murray – spicy food for manly man, yeah! (And, er, womanly woman? I dunno)"

The shop owners followed him in, not daring to speak. He was getting worried about that. Maybe he should have chosen a shirt that had less swearing on it?

"So… just to summarise-"

"OH GOD WE NEED SALES HELP US PLEASE OH GOD!" screamed one man.

"Well, you came to the right geezer, man. Morgendorffer Consulting knows just how to get businesses to be on the _edge_, to bring in the wild crowd!"

"I sell make-up," said one confused woman. "I don't think I can make that edgy."

"But I _can_," said Jake, hoping he could. "Now: let's _rap_…"

* * *

Economics class was the most intellectually stimulating class Daria had. Every mental faculty she had was brought to bear so she could work out what the _hell_ Mrs Bennett's diagrams meant.

"In economics, we call this flow," said Bennett as she scribbled a mutant squid onto the blackboard. "We have a scenario of supply and demand, where a new demand is created by a previous supply. Does everyone follow?"

There was a pause.

"No?" offered Tom.

She ignored him. "Can anyone give me a concrete representation of this abstract theory?"

"No!" said Kevin proudly, missing the point of Tom's remark.

"_The mall is a good example,_" said Bennett. "It's a very beautiful illustration of all these economic principles. In fact, it would make for an excellent field trip!"

"All right! Field trip!" Kevin paused, then turned to Daria. "Where are we going?"

"The field."

"Cool!"

"The Mall of the Millennium is a perfect emblem of the modern economic environment and would make for an interesting trip," continued the teacher, ignoring the discord around her. "We'll be going there on Friday-"

"Isn't the Mall of the Millennium in dire financial straits and thus more of an example of how those principles _don't_ work?" asked Daria.

"It's… having difficulties, but the educational possibilities-"

"And isn't it strange that we'd go there instead of the much nearer local mall?"

"Are you implying that this school has been bribed in some way to take this trip, Daria?"

"Yes."

"Everyone, we'll need your parent's permission to go on the trip-"

"I'll take that was a 'yes Daria'."

"Chalk doesn't get dug out of the ground, Ms Morgendorffer!"

There was a brief, embarrassed pause.

"Don't worry Ms Bennett, most of the class didn't catch it," said Tom.

* * *

Erin Chambers was a very, very, very upbeat and perky woman, which made her a natural at Sales (especially if the sales were being made to male clients of a certain age). The management at Landon Enterprises plc loved her; the rest of Sales watched with fixed grins in the hope she'd trip up.

Now, wonder of wonders, _Andrew Landon himself_ had called her into his office omg squee!

"Miss Chambers!" he said, shaking her hand with enthusiasm. "We meet at last!"

"H-h-h-h-hiiii, sir," she whispered.

"Oh please, call me Andrew. I've been hearing good things about you, Miss Chambers, very good things. You may be what I'm looking for. You see, we want to sell some of our products to the Mall of the Millennium – you've heard of it?"

"That's the one with no money, right s- Andrew?"

"That's right, they're desperate right now. And that makes them perfect! That's a hundred shops who'll pay out the nose for products they think will save them money!" He laughed out loud at the thought. "Normally we'd call them, but direct sales will be more effective, dazzle the poor schlubs. I'd like you to head down there on Friday…"

* * *

"…and that's the plan!" said Jake, reaching the end of the laptop's PowerPoint presentation. "Any questions?"

"Isn't this going to cause legal problems?"

"Almost certainly!" he said cheerily. "But hey, _screw the man, right?_" Noting he was the only person punching the air at that point, he sighed and said: "My wife at Morgendorffer Legal will look into the legal issues and provide defence if required…"

The shop owners readily agreed it was required.

"Brutal! I tell you, this Friday the Mall is really gonna see something!"

* * *

Quinn's gang had all gathered outside the school, all ready to leave it far behind and head out to the Mall of the Millennium. Her plan was brilliant: they would get into cars and _go_ there, as opposed to walking into the school.

There was one tiny problem: only two people in the gang could drive. And there were eleven of them. _Someone_ would have to squeeze their sixth body into a car meant for five people and that would lead to arguing, discontent, face punching, etc. No, it just wasn't on. They needed a third car.

And that was how Jamie White, arriving to school on his first day of a provisional learner's licence, got cornered by Quinn before he could exit the car.

"You will ****ing drive me and some others where we want to go, or I'll t*** you one."

He stared up at the vision of loveliness (and leather) and whispered happily "Okay".

_Fashion Club, eat your heart out,_ thought Quinn.

* * *

"...it was _such_ a good idea of yours, _El-see_," said Sandi, with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Taking advantage of the plummeting prices in clothes and make-up at the Mall of the Millennium, I wish _I_ could have ideas like that – gee, you guys should impeach me and make her the Fashion Club President!"

"Oh it'd be a shame to lose you but if you insist."

Sandi took a brief, terrified second at the malignant look in Elsie's eyes and, just a bit too late, laughed. "Funny! You're such a great kidder, El-see!"

"You were both kidding?" asked Stacy, confused.

"Oh yeah, Sandi was," said Elsie.

Not for the first time, Sandi considered that she'd made a severe tactical error in getting Elsie to join the Club. With her family's wealth, reduced as it was, she could clean up the clothes aisles, and her status as a Sloane immediately put them on the social map. Unfortunately, Elsie Sloane was the type of girl who knew the Vice President was meant to take over if something bad happened to the President and was always going to be prepared for bad things. And, sometimes, might cause them.

"Anyway, let us depart before Security spots us." She turned to the one guy around, the one they'd found with a car. The one called... guy? "We shall be departing now."

* * *

"Seventy eight bottles of **beer** on the wall, seventy eight bottles of **beer!** If one of those bottles should happen to fall, seventy-seven bottles of..."

When Daria had gotten on the school bus, she'd snarked that maybe they could sing 99 Bottles to pass the time. This was the first time she'd ever heard someone really do it. And hopefully, it would be the last.

"Babe? That's a really cute song and all, but do you think you could stop for a while?" Brittany hadn't said 'or I'll kill you' but everyone but Kevin heard it anyway.

"Sorry, babe," said Kevin, who wasn't. "We always sing that song on the team bus. It makes us _fierce!_"

"You're not _on_ the team bus now. I'm not your teammate. I'm your girlfriend! We talked about the difference, remember?"

"He's going to sing again anyway, isn't he?" muttered Daria.

"Nah, he'll hum," said Jane. "Really loudly. I've been on these trips before, you can never stop him humming without taking drastic action."

"You've brought a knife then?"

Soon enough, Brittany distracted Kevin by making out with him. Noisily. Right in earshot of Mack and his girlfriend Angie.

"Sorry Ms Parks, but I want to sit at the back of the bus," said Mack.

Angie frowned. "There's something bad about the back?"

The boy blinked, prepared to speak, then visibly gave up. "At least she stopped him singing."

_Hmmm-hmmm-hmmhmmhmm-HMMMM-hmm-hmmm..._

That had briefly amused Daria, but soon she began to have nausea creep over her. She might have been able to bear it except Upchuck came over, trailing a long pretend-it's-mink purple scarf behind him and smelling of desperation.

"_Ladies!_" he perved, tipping his shades down in an attempt to seem flirty. "I have to acquire some bikinis for... _business_ matters, aheheh, and I need a couple of models. The two of you are about Tania's size! What do you say, girls?"

Jane thought this over. "You know, I can't think of an appropriately vicious comment. Over to you, Daria."

"I feel sick," muttered the girl.

"That's just disappointing."

"No, I _really_ feel sick. Can someone open a window?"

Upchuck leered and went to do so, to display his virile masculinity. The window, of course, would not open, though he would be thankfully occupied for fifteen minutes trying to open it.

"I didn't know you got car sick," said Jane, looking concerned.

"I don't, usually. It's the fumes. It smells like... _perfume_, but why would _oh god say nothing Jane._"

Jane bent down to Daria's ear and whispered "Brittany must be working up a _sweat_."

"I know where you live, Lane. And it's somewhere flammable."

* * *

"They can't read my po-oh-ka faaace!" sang Erin, the wind in her hair and the radio in her ears and everything bright and happy and sunshiney, a beautiful car purring around her.

A company car, anyway. She couldn't borrow Brian's car, that'd be selfish of her. _He_ might need it in the day to go... er...

_WHERE DOES HE GO ALL DAY_

Her mind instantly clamped down on the rebellious, angry thoughts (the Morgen-Thoughters, she called them) and tried to focus on the beautiful scenery. Unfortunately, the beautiful scenery had a fat biker with a "COCK & ROLL" jacket and the mother of all builders' cracks right in front of her.

She sure had been seeing a lot of... people like that on the way to the Mall. She wondered why.

* * *

The school bus arrived at the car park early. It was a titan of a car park, one so big and the ends so far away that it would logically need a _tram_ to get you easily from there to the mall. And there was such a tram, but it had died from neglect years ago and was half-rusted. The bus was able to get near the front of the lot no problem.

Daria would've noticed a number of scrappy looking cars and bikes across the lot if she hadn't been struggling to keep her breakfast in the inside. She ran out of the bus, looking for a safe place to unload, and it was Tom Sloane's severe misfortune to walk over at that point to start a conversation.

After a while, he said "Hey, I needed new shoes anyway."

"Do you think they sell intestinal tracts here," she got out, before a second barrage was unleashed.

Tom put a consoling hand on her shoulder, helping steady her. "You okay now?"

"I'm on a field trip, so the answer would be no even without the puke."

"You should've held it until we'd gotten _into_ the mall. You could've told your parents you were making a statement."

They both went quiet as they came to the realisation that Tom's hand was still on her shoulder. She stiffened slightly, and he gingerly removed it.

"Sorry."

"Um." Daria thought quickly to come up with another word. "Um," she settled for.

"Hey, look, there's a really fat guy in a bike arriving!" said Tom desperately. "Let's make sarcastic comments about his worth as a human being!"

She agreed readily and looked up, and saw Tom had undersold it. There were _multiple_ fat guys on bikes. And, as they watched, two arriving cars spat out a collection of Goths and punks. The new arrivals eyed each other with mutual suspicion, then turned as one to eye the schoolkids with suspicion. (Some had _bright colours_) Brittany gave a nervous wave.

"Oh no," said Daria. "I... I wasn't paying much attention at dinner these last few days or, indeed, ever, but I think I remember Dad mentioning he had something going on at a mall on a Friday. And either this is it, or the dregs of society have finally risen up to destroy Western civilisation and they didn't think I was cool enough to invite. It could be either, really."

* * *

The Mall was _flooded_ with punks, hippies, Goths, stoners, metalheads, nu-metallers, rockers, mods, alternatives, outlaw bikers, BDSM doms and subs, anarchists, gangstas, and two Orthodox Jews who were thought to have gone to the wrong place until one high-fived a nu-metaller and sung out Slipknot lyrics as a greeting. Posters had been stuck to walls and windows, advertising a Suck It Capitalism festival with live acts and sales at selected shops.

A make-up shop, all pink and light and glittery, was now being besieged by Goths and dommes, and a shop assistant had emerged to hastily paint black streaks over the pink.

Mrs Bennett had immediately gone into crisis mode, forcing the students together into a tight square with the larger boys on the outside. Everyone had a buddy to look out for them, and she marched up front while also trying to cover the rear.

"We need to get to area C, section Orange! That area is secure! Follow me and _do not stop for anything!_"

A pierced-everything anarchist walked past the class and roared "**** SCHOOL BRAINWASHING!".

"And, it appears, normal washing," said Daria.

"I hate to say this," said Jane, "but this trip is on the verge of becoming _interesting_."

"A hippie and a stoner have just got into a fight over whose subculture is the biggest sell-out," said Tom, pointing them out.

"Not quite there. Needs something more..."

As the class rounded area Q, section Canary, they passed the Sound It Out music store, where a large crowd was gathering for a live performance. A live performance by...

"Hey. We're Mystik Spiral. And..." Trent spotted Jane's class, blinked. "Your whole _class_ cut class to see us? Cool."

"Ah yep," said Jane. "There's something more."

"Okay, in honour of that, we're going to be leading with one of our older songs: Lawndale High Really Really Sucks. We thought about changing the name, but... y'know. Ahem. _Condemned by the BELL! To stay in this HELL! ..._"

* * *

Erin's brain had managed to place all the weird cars and bikes in the compartment marked Nothing To Do With Me, but once she'd entered the mall & could see the dark hordes it gave up and left her to face stark reality.

"Oh dear."

She glanced to her side and saw four pleasant-looking fashionable girls and one generic guy, all five looking terrified and checking each other to make sure nobody had noticed.

"Arrrrre we gooiiing anywheerrreeee thennn?" asked one girl.

"Of course, Tiffany dear!" snapped the lead girl. "Unless, of course, _El-see_ is worried-"

"I'm not worried," lied El-see.

The leader looked a bit upset about that. "Okay then. Um. That idea of finding some hideously out of style nobody and making her look almost as good as us..."

"I think it's still a good idea! Don't you?"

"Oh yes, no objections here!"

The girl with pigtails was about to cry. Erin knew how she felt.

Taking a deep breath (_you've been around Mum and your aunts arguing, this is _nothing), she headed towards the first shop on her list, determined to sell things. She was going to sell things. She wasn't scared of the big scary people all around here. _She was going in the shop now._

Fifteen eyes belonging to eight huge bikers turned to watch her enter. The clerks of Bullock & Ina's China Shop looked at her desperately, as if hoping she was an undercover CIA agent.

"How would you like to save approximately 2.3% of your AC's power usage?" she said very very carefully.

* * *

To Daria's disappointment, the class made it to a conference room unmolested. Now they were being hovered over by very, very nervous executives, who were doing a live demonstration of how focus groups worked. (A cheque had exchanged hands with Bennett) Normally, this would have irked Daria but the sheer _desperation_ of the executives to gain _any_ information that could save their mall was hilarious.

She quietly began to plot ways to mess with them.

"And when you go to the mall, you look for what?" asked Exec One, making the mistake of asking Upchuck.

" Bikinis! Make that lovely, luscious, ladies _in_ bikinis! Rrrrow!

"I always look for security guards leading away someone in handcuffs," said Jane. "Shoplifters are the best judges of merchandise."

"I concur with Jane," said Daria. "I haven't seen a single shoplifter in all my time here. I'm _very_ concerned. Something must be wrong with the products if none of _today's_ crowd want to steal it."

" I meant more along the line of the qualities you look for?" said Exec One with growing worry (images of looting had just ended up in his head, Daria betted). "The stores? What should they be like?"

" I have a question," snapped Jodie. "How much benefits and handouts do you give to your staff, exactly? Because I don't see why _our_ tax money should be bailing out a store that wastes its money like that!"

"Oh yeah, Obama's trillion dollar bailout of malls was definitely a step too far," said Tom, deadpan. "But we should've seen it coming after the Pet Store Bailout Act."

"I thought Obama _had_ a pet?" Brittany looked lost. "Can he really look after more than one?"

"**How about you?**" said Exec Two loudly, looking at Mohammed in the hopes he would be a safe target. "How many times a year do you go to the mall?"

"Sorry man, I stopped paying attention at the bikinis bit. Can you repeat that question?"

While the chat went on around her, Daria took a look at the large, not-suspicious-honest mirror in the corner. "I bet that's a two-way mirror."

"You mean, if you turn out the lights you can see through it?" asked Jane.

"I have a better idea." Daria turned to Kevin. "Hey, Kevin. If you moon a mirror, does that mean you can see your _own_ butt?"

His eyes lit up. "Whoa, I dunno but I'm gonna find out!"

* * *

Bikini Island was going to safe. It sold _fashionable_ clothes. The Great Unwashed would not dare go in there.

That, at least, had been the Fashion Club's plan. Unfortunately, Bikini Island was one of the contributors to Suck It Capitalism and once they were in, the press of incoming women made sure they could not get out. It was four of them ("guy" had been made to wait outside) surrounded on all sides by women that Sandi lacked the vocabulary to describe.

"How many cows did they kill?" whispered Stacy as she looked at their jackets.

"Don't... make... eye contact..." said Elsie, her every muscle tensed. "I hear this type view that as a challenge."

"I want to make a bitchy comment about their hair and make-up."

"_Stay strong, Sandi._"

"I'll be alright. As long as nothing _too_ gauche goes past-"

It was at that moment that Andrea and Quinn emerged from behind a rack, both testing out bikinis with no concern for public modesty. Andrea was wearing a skimpy one. _Andrea_.

On instinct, Sandi said "urg, _puh-lease_ get a larger size for, like, the sake of _oth-ers_".

Quinn and Andrea turned their heads. So did every other woman in the shop.

"Iiiii'm scaaaarrrred."

* * *

"...and in light of all that, don't you consider that this mall indicates that Marx was right and communism is truly inevitable in our society?" asked Daria.

Exec Three burst into tears.

* * *

Things were going badly for Erin. No, not badly: just _difficult_. She had to stay focused and positive. She could do it.

It was the Fuzzy-Wuzzy Wee-Bits store next. That would be safe. You always knew a Wee-Bit was nice and wholesome. She'd be safe there.

A punk from out of Aunt Helen's wet- Helen's _day_ dreams and a stoner who had not bathed since the Civil War exited the Wee-Bit store, their arms loaded with product. The punk was saying "my ma LOVES these things!".

_Oh dear,_ thought Erin.

Her legs, sensing no safe zone anywhere, locked up out of sheer fright. Around her, huge men and woman in ripped and filthy clothes pushed past, a Goth headbutted someone for calling him an emo, a Hell's Angel and a Crip wannabe eyed each other for signs of trouble, and someone vomited on a window to cheers from his fellows. In the circumstance, Erin decided it would be sensible to pretend she was invisible and hope everyone else would play along.

There was an unholy screaming as the girls and guy from earlier ran past her, looking like all the hounds of hell were after them. A few seconds behind them came Quinn and some friends she'd made, which would explain why.

"LET'S ****ING HAVE THEM oh hey cousin Erin FIRST DIBS ON THEIR WALLETS"

Erin remained ramrod straight, even as a group of hoodie-wearing men with pierced eyes came towards her. When they got close enough for her to read the small type on their nu-metal band logos, her brain hurriedly rebooted itself in the hope of some adequate response.

"Do you ever have problems vacuuming those cracks in the corner than the nozzle _just_ can't reach?"

The gang stopped and huddled together. After a few seconds muttering, the lead male agreed that they did indeed have that problem.

"Well, your friends at Landon Enterprises have just the gadget for you...!"

* * *

The executives had finally thrown the class out, which left them with a dilemma: Bennett would have paired them off to do assignments, but with the mall overrun she didn't want to let _anyone_ out of her sight. Not when the anarchists and the rockers were eyeing each other with "wanna start something" eyes, just across the floor.

"We... We'll make our way to the food court," she said, noticing a clear path to an escalator. "We will stay there until it's safe. _No one child gets left behind._"

"I think the sensible and mature thing to do here is to sneak off," Tom said to Daria and Jane.

"Good plan," replied Jane. "I wonder what song Trent's up to now?"

* * *

"OW!" yelled Mystik Spiral, and then ceased playing.

**"MY NOSE!"** roared back the crowd.

"OW!"

**"MY FACE!"**

Jane watched them, smiling proudly. "They've learnt how to play their instruments. Your father's consulting made them learn how to play."

"Speaking of my family, is that Quinn in the front row dancing really suggestively in the hope Trent pays attention? Why yes, it is. Shall we go over and embarrass her by being square?"

They did so. Quinn, engrossed by Trent's presence, didn't notice them until it was too late and was quite mortified when she saw them.

"_Gawd_, Daria, why do you and Tom have to... have to _ruin_ things for everyone by turning up looking like that!"

"At least you asked me that at a counter-culture gig this time, rather than my own birthday party."

"Is there something you _want_?"

Daria grinned evilly and hugged her. "I _love_ my sister!"

_"Dah-ree-ah! The rockers are going to think I'm wussy!"_

"You know, if that was my sister, I'd blackmail her by threatening to tell our parents that she was skipping school," said Tom.

"I'd never do that," said Daria, still hugging away. "They'd be proud of her."

* * *

Jane decided to hang with Trent for a while, enjoying his new somewhat-talent. This left Daria and Tom to wander on their own, and come across the eternal statue of Erin. They could see people leaving it, carrying products and order brochures. One burly biker was holding a foldable notepad holder ((C) and TM Landon Enterprises), cheering "I dunno what this is but I bet I can hit someone really hard with it!".

Daria, ashamed of her pang of conscience, went over to her cousin. "Erin?"

"Hello Daria," her cousin said, a fixed smile on her face. "It's rather embarrassing but I don't think I can move. Too many... customers around."

"I think you need to go to the food court and get some good, unhealthy junk food into you."

"They have scary hair, Daria."

"Don't worry. If anything happens, Tom will save us. He's a _male_."

Tom flexed his arms. "Booya."

"Oh. That's... that's good. I could do with some food, I guess..."

Gently, she led Erin up the stairs and to the sanctuary of McDonalds, where no counterculture type would dare trade (except for the stoners who were desperate by this point).

* * *

Stacy had been separated from the others but her instincts for fashion saved her. She'd immediately found her way to Scissor Wizard. They had hair-dye and could style things. Then, with speed that would've stunned the track team, she reached the make-up shop and then managed to pick up a denim punk jacket that had been mislaid. It wasn't much of a disguise, but with luck it'd help her get through the day.

She turned the corner and ran into Quinn, who cried out "bitching hair! What's your name?"

"Stacy – er, I mean-"

"Cool name! Hey, hang with us, we're going to go throw things at that dude over there!"

Stacy remembered something about frying pans and fires.

* * *

Erin ate her hamburger like it came from Jesus Himself, with a sprinkling of Mohammed's own secret sauce to go with the Buddha lettuce.

"This is a bad time to say how burgers are made, isn't it?" asked Daria.

"If you get me back to my car, I'll do anything in return!"

"Well, a ride home would be great. Tom and I really aren't in the mood to take the bus back, and Jane... Is Jane hitching a ride back with Trent?"

"Risky," said Tom. "Trent will need to remember he drove here."

* * *

Jane, when they found her, was busy selling fake tattoos and face painting to the mall's customers, right out of a _very_ grateful State Of The Art arts 'n' crafts shop. She'd told them she was happy enough and, having slipped Red Bull to Trent without him knowing, was interested in seeing how long he'd play for. That meant they could leave her behind and head the hell back to Lawndale without any guilt.

As Erin drove away as fast as she could, Daria noted to Tom: "And you know, those shops involved in Suck It Capitalism really were booming. And some of the others-"

"Except that one with the broken windows. Er, one of the ones."

"It turns out supply and demand does work, though I'm not sure any of them knew what it was they were demanding. Maybe the chance to look cool and outlaw in front of others, though if that was it they shouldn't have been buying Wee-Bits. Except the dinosaur Wee-Bits. Those guys keep it old-school."

Erin, as she often did when Daria was using odd words, tuned the talk out. The important thing, after all, was that she'd got away safely and had somehow made a whole bunch of sales. And her cousin had helped her out, which was nice.

She'd have to tell Mum and Grandma that. Grandma always was asking about Daria for some reason.

* * *

It was approaching midnight and the mall could not close because Trent was _still playing_. Jane had run out of paint, ink, and crayon over an hour ago, and was now using leftover food – some of the BDSM crowd had started some dodgy games up thanks to that.

"Hey, I've got some French fries left over!" she called to Quinn and Stacy. "Five for five cents!"

"If we stick that in our hair, Trent'll think we're _really_ counter-culture!" squeed Quinn. "Come on, Stacy!"

"I... I'm okay, thanks," she whispered, coming to the conclusion she was never going home.

To the side, some anarchists were discussing how this sort of gathering was raising a finger to the capitalist system, but they couldn't be heard over the Sound It Out manager yelling "WE HAVE HOW MUCH MONEY OH THANK YOU GOD AHAHAAHA!".

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: By time of writing these notes, this fic has been nominated for a bunch of stuff on the 2010 Daria Fanworks Awards. This makes me happy.


	6. Model Students

GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 6: Model Students

English class always provoked thought. In this case, the thought was "how dumb is Mr O'Neill if he's asking _Brittany_ a question about Thoreau's _Walden_?". The answer, it turned out, was "very dumb".

"He wasn't on Walden Pond because he hated the world. He was just mad at Jane Fonda. You know, he was her father in real life, too."

"I read that book and thought Thoreau had the wrong idea," Daria said to Jane quietly. "He should've stayed at home with the creature comforts and sent everyone _else_ to the pond. That way, he gets all the good bits of being isolated and can still indulge in Sloth, Gluttony, and the other Seven Virtues."

"I dare you to say that to O'Neill. I double-dare you."

Before Daria could take Jane up on that, Principal Li burst into the room with fake enthusiasm all over her face.

"Good morning! I hope I'm not disrupting the learning process."

"Oh... no..." said O'Neill sadly.

"I've got some exciting information for you all. A team of talent scouts from Amazon Modelling Agency will be here this week as part of their national talent search, and the most promising Lawndale High student will receive a professional modelling contract. This is a great opportunity for you all, and the even greater good of Laaaawndale High."

Daria raised her hand. Li narrowed her eyes, as if expecting the hand to turn into a gun, and very quickly said "Oh well I see _no one_ has any questions so I'll just mosey along-"

"Isn't modelling about dropping out of school to pursue a career based solely on your youth and your looks, both of which are inevitably declared over by age twenty-five?"

"And don't fashion people squander their lives loudly worshiping all that is superficial and meaningless while the planet keeps riding a roller coaster to hell?" chimed in Jane.

Li walked out fast, but she could be seen muttering darkly to the neck of her blouse. She was muttering something about "troublemakers, Code Orange".

"And now the entire security apparatus of Ingsoc will be focused on us," said Daria.

"We should look at it as a teaser of what it's like to be a model. I'm going to vomit up breakfast after class to _really_ get into the spirit."

* * *

After class, the two girls found themselves immediately cornered by _every security guard in the school_. Daria gave them a short wave.

"Hey Steve. Is that a laser sight on the taser?"

"Yes it is," the guard said proudly.

"Are we going to Li's office, or are we skipping the trial and heading right to the burial pit?"

"If we get to choose, I take the pit," said Jane.

* * *

Li's office was dark, dank, and filled with the psychic smell of paranoia and greed. The wall of monitor screens showed every camera feed in Lawndale (including, Daria was disturbed to realise, a camera _filming a camera_). Li stared them down, hunched over like she was prepared to hide behind her desk at any moment.

"The Amazon Modelling visit is of _great_ importance to the school," she said. "We are receiving a fee that will _finally_ get us those bullet-proof skylights for the swimming pool."

"You watched Red Dawn as a kid, didn't you?" asked Daria.

Li ignored her. "As a result, I _cannot_ allow the visit to be disrupted by... by disruptors! For the order and well-being of the school, I am... _requesting_ you two stay home for the rest of the week."

"You're suspending us on the basis we _might_ misbehave?"

"Of course not, of course not! I just think everyone would be better off if, instead of going to school, you did not because of the potential of disruption."

"My head hurts," said Jane.

"My mother's a lawyer," said Daria.

"Ms Morgendorffer, are you threatening me?"

"Of course not, of course not. I just think it would be beneficial if, having said what you have said, I brought up that I am related to a lawyer, so we could avoid the potential of rule breaking. Cough, cough, nudge, wink."

"Alright, Ms Morgendorffer – but _one_ act, just _one_-!"

"Please, Ms Li. We are capable of _not_ being sarcastic to people."

* * *

"You must be the representatives from the Amazon Modelling Agency."

"Well, I would hope so," said the man who was camper than a row of tents, and wearing the tightest haute couture shirt & trousers that his circulatory system would allow. "We're a _little_ long in the tooth to be attending high school."

"Speak for yourself, grandpa-pa!" cackled the plastic surgeried woman with the somewhere-in-European accent and the hideously expensive dress, as she slapped Camp Man on the back.

They both laughed.

_I'm not going to make it,_ thought Daria.

The representatives began to butter up Mrs Bennett and Camp Man even asked her to "Show off those gams, girlfriend!". Then they asked Brittany to do a "runway, sweetie!" and not-so-secretly the man used his hands to indicate the size of her breasts.

_Hold it in, Daria. Hold it IN._

"Now, who else in this room is a potential superstar du fashion? You!" The woman turned to Jane. "You have a very interesting look! Have you ever considered the achingly glamorous life of a model?"

Jane, looking as terrified as Daria felt, said "not... not really".

_Move on from Jane, PLEASE move on from Jane, I can't let that pass without comment if you go for Jane._

"And _you_, dear heart!" The vultures had turned onto Tom. "Such boyish good looks and that sense of confidence! Oh, young man-"

"I can't be a model," said Tom apologetically. "I've got too much dignity."

_Oh god. I have to top that. I HAVE TO TOP THAT. Don't talk to me, don't talk to me—_

The man turned to her. "Oh, look at you. So waif-like... so pouty. Could you remove your glasses?"

"I can't take my glasses off. I need them to see scam artists."

_Damn it._

_

* * *

_

Quinn had seen Daria being 'escorted' out of school and managed to find out why from that… that _nob_ in her class, Tim was it? Anyway, that shit was not on. Her sis was trying to keep it real and the Fascists were Fascistising her. You did not let that stand.

She was trying to work out a suitable revenge when Claude and Rrrrrrromanica came to her class looking for potential models.

"Oh, now that is _striking!_ Such visceral force… my dear, could you give us a little twirl?"

Quinn gave an innocent, sunshiny smile. "Sure!"

_Ha ha, sow the whirlwind!_

_

* * *

_

"...so then Ms. Li admits they're doing this to pay for new bullet-proof skylights. The whole thing's enough to turn your stomach. Which I guess is good if you want to be a model; eases the transition to bulimia."

Helen finished her bottle of Jack Daniels and smashed it on the table. "That slag, I'm going to _have_ her! Oh, I'm getting legal on her ass _and_ the superintendent of schools, it's letters _and_ phone calls this time-"

"You're calling them after drinking that?"

"Good point Daria, I need to get more tanked up!"

"Always glad to help," she sighed, not bothering to look as her mother ripped (literally) a cupboard door off to get more drink.

"Your principal has a car, right?" asked Jake. "Wanna borrow _my_ keys for plausible deniability?"

"No, I think I'll let this be dealt with legally instead of with immoral petty violence."

"Oh, Daria." He sounded really upset. "This has emotionally crushed you!"

"Have I been living with a different family for the past sixteen years?"

"No, you never went out enough times for that."

She smiled. "Nice comeback."

"Thanks! What comeback?"

* * *

Normally, Daria would be bored at school. Now, she got to be bored at home for the foreseeable future. It would be an interesting new experience, vegging out in front of midday television while her mother roared legal threats and normal threats down the phone.

As it turned out, the TV was being used by Erin's fiancé Brian.

"Ah. The Pigskin Channel," said Daria. "Twenty four hours of games you know the result for already."

"I never knew this channel existed before!" said Brian, sounding like he'd had a religious experience. "I just pressed the wrong button one day and bam!"

"How's the real estate revision going?"

He paused for a second. "Just taking a break. Man has to take breaks, Daria, gotta get himself a brewski and a bit of the ol' action-"

"You only needed the first sentence. Saying more makes it sound like you're covering your ass."

"No, no, I'm just being friendly, that's all, we're gonna be family soon and everything-"

"What's net leasing?"

Silence.

"What's leasing?"

More silence.

Finally, Brian asked: "You want the TV to yourself, that it?"

"Have you actually done any studying at all or are you hoping that the information will magically appear in your brain if you think about it long enough?"

He was angry about that, clearly and visibly angry, but he also wouldn't look at her. "I don't need to be lectured to by a girl."

That was more of an answer than if he'd actually answered.

* * *

Quinn came in, smiling like the cat that got the dairy farm.

"Mum! Dad! Guess what? I've just blagged my way into a really exclusive modelling class! If Romonica phones about it, act like squares, okay? I'm totally gonna _trash_ the place!"

"Good for you, Quinn!" said Jake cheerily. "Way to help your sister!"

"Yeah, thanks," said Daria, and she really did feel thankful. It was nice to know your sister had your back.

* * *

Thanks to conference calling, Daria could hang out with Jane and Tom without ever needing to leave the comfort of her own room. It was like the Internet but without the need to correct spelling.

"Mum's going to force the school to let us back in, though I can ask her not to work on your behalf if you've started a project."

"Thanks, but it's cool," said Jane. "I don't wanna miss Taco Day at the cafeteria."

"Tom, I've got a task for you-"

"That's the most depressed come-on I've ever heard, but hey, I'm available."

Unseen, Daria blushed. "No, Tom-"

"I'm available too!" said Jane.

"You're available to anyone with surplus paint. Anyway, Tom: I need you to film the modelling classes and also pass on any dirt about the agency at school. I've decided this needs to get put up on Lawndale Leaks."

Daria had been quietly building up her wiki of Lawndale High's corruption and incompetence. So far, the site had gone unnoticed, but once it was she wanted as much incriminating data as possible. That would be Phase One…

"If I film it, there'll be interesting rumours about me."

"Be discreet. Failing that, sit near to Upchuck and then nobody will notice you. And come on, it's women showing off their bodies and ignoring their dignity on command: Upchuck will be there."

"Do you want two copies, one for you and one for Quinn?"

"If Quinn's gonna disrupt things, you're making _me_ a damn copy too," said a gleeful Jane.

"Go for it. Now, aside from the Leaks, I now just need to keep myself from being bored…"

* * *

Erin had come home late, as if she was trying to avoid the family except at mealtimes. Which she probably was. Despite that, she was cheery and sociable during dinner, and talked a bit about the hard work she was doing at Landon Enterprises.

Brian's response to that was to go "she's good at her little Sales job, isn't she?" and then regale everyone with how hard he'd been studying. It had been a titanic struggle, full of large words and much comprehension.

"I can't wait until you've passed," said Erin. "It'll be such a relief knowing you'll be the head of our future household!"

And she really did seem to mean that.

Daria didn't think much of Erin and this wasn't encouraging her to start. But objectively, Erin was what you would term "nice" and "pleasant". Brian, objectively, was what Oxford professors would term "taking the mickey".

After dinner, Daria quietly shadowed Brian to the bathroom (_attack when the enemy are distracted_) and, before he could go in, spoke in a quiet and unemotional manner.

And what she spoke was: "I'm going to tell Erin what a good job you've been doing of keeping our sofa warm."

Brian was quiet for a long time. "How much?" he finally said.

"Sorry, you don't get the easy out. I'll tell her once I'm back at school. There's only one way out for you, and that's if, between now and then, you do some really intensive studying and convince me you're going to take the exam soon."

He looked at her, aghast. "But _how do I do it?_"

"Ah. Well, you're in luck. I've got a lot of free time and if there's one thing I know, it's how to _study_."

* * *

The terror started at 6 AM, when Brian awoke to find: a) an iPod was in his ears and b) it was blaring a very loud song about the chances of anything coming from Mars.

"The chances are a million to one, he said," said a half-asleep Daria, sitting over his bed like a very bored incubus. "Much like you being up early. But still, they come."

"But _you're never_ up this early-"

"We're _all_ making sacrifices today. Breakfast isn't for another hour and you're going to sit there being hungry unless you can get the following questions right…"

He finally got them right three minutes before breakfast. Daria, taking pity on him, decided not to take his coffee away unless he answered some more.

"_How did you find my porn stash?"_

"Effort," replied Daria. "For every ten minutes you revise over the next four hours, I'll return one magazine and DVD and give you five minutes with them."

"You're bluffing."

"I've got talking book versions of Under The Dome, Bleak House, The Road To Wigan Pier… I could go for _twenty four_ hours."

She sat down and stared him down. Numbly, Brian turned to his books.

* * *

It had seemed like it would be such a good day for Stacy. She was going to an exclusive modelling class. She had Potential. The whole Fashion Club was going and could talk about nothing else, and she hadn't needed to apologise for anything _all day_ as a result. It was going to rock.

Once on stage, however, she saw Elsie and Sandi put on their Kill The Enemy faces, and realised the downside: they couldn't _all_ get the modelling contract. Elsie and Sandi knew that, and in their minds each one would feel they _had_ to defeat the other, HAD TO. It would be brutal, and if Stacy was in the way or seen as a challenge or was just nearby when the loser was angry…

And then, worse, "Killer" Quinn turned up. Stacy looked in horror as she arrived, which was the wrong move as it caused Quinn to jump at her going "BOOGA BOOGA!".

"_eeeeeeeeeeeeee!"_

"Pussy," condemned Quinn before moving on.

Two weeks ago, Stacy had needed to disguise herself as a punk to escape Quinn, only to run into her – and get dragged along with the Maleficent Eleven, who thought she was some other girl called Stacy. She didn't manage to get home until 3AM and by that point the police had been called in. _Hours_ of being terrified Quinn's gang would work out Stacy was, well, Stacy; and then being terrified because she was with the gang.

She'd hoped to avoid Quinn after that but now she was _here._ Crap.

"All right, ladies," said Romonica, surveying them; "your worst enemy is at the end of the catwalk. The one who stole your boyfriend. She has fallen and broken her leg. Your job is to tell her, without words, that you've come to watch them _cut it off_."

Stacy took up her position behind Sandi, and put on her best look of contempt. (Sandi would win this round, she knew) It didn't work very well, her nerves were shot and that made her think of how messy a leg being cut off would be and ewwwwww…

"Very good, Elsie, you truly seem to be savouring another's misfortune!"

"Of course."

Stacy realised, too late, Elsie had just beaten Sandi at something and she was in Sandi's line of sight and oh damn damn damn.

"Gee, _Stay_-cee, that was an… interesting idea of what Romonica had asked for. But then, if you don't want the contract after all-"

"PBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB!"

Everyone turned at the sound of flatulence-like raspberries. There was Quinn, at the end of the catwalk, flipping off the 'enemy' and giving her a good razzing. Then she pointed and made silent laughs, before waving her butt in the 'enemy's' face.

"I don't think I did that right," she announced. "I think I was too polite."

Silence reigned.

"Nnnnnooooooo, that was…. That was an interesting idea, Quinn," said Claude. He shook his head to recover and said, "Now, girls, you're little kittens in an animal shelter. You have to look sad and helpless so someone will adopt you, or else it's _kitty heaven_."

"How do we know it's not kitty hell? Can I be kitty hell? I've been a really _baaaaad _kitty…"

Quinn was trying to pose seductively, or at least Stacy thought that was what she was trying. Should she be doing that? She wasn't sure.

"Such a bad, bad, wicked kitty – I need _punishing_…"

She noticed Elsie Sloane wasn't doing that – which, she guessed, was why Sandi did start.

"Oh, yes, I have been a particularly naughty kitty, what with the… naughtiness, yes…"

"WELL!" snarled Elsie, thrusting herself out. "I've been going to third base with other kitten's boyfriends when those kittens were supposed to be friends of mine, because that's how I roll and I can roll you, big boy!"

"You've _what, El-see?_"

"I don't mean I really have."

Stacy was the only one looking at Claude and Romonica, so she got the idea that this was not quite what they'd had in mind. They started to speak, but boys from class were in the audience and they'd just started cheering _very loudly_ – especially Kevin, before Brittany elbowed him in the guts – and control had been lost.

She had no idea what to do – so, as always in these situations, Stacy went with her fallback plan.

She hyperventilated.

* * *

Angela Li and Helen Morgendorffer may have been walking down a corridor, but they kept their eyes fixed on each other, as if they expected the other woman to attack if their guard was dropped for a brief second. 'Foggy' Murdoch, the school's lawyer, knew he shouldn't be trailing behind, it made conversation with Morgendorffer difficult, but he was scared he'd catch on fire if he stepped between their glares.

"If we are going to settle this case, we should really be in the office," he said, knowing it was futile. "There's paperwork we need to look at-"

"Oh no no no, Mrs Morgendorffer is going to _see_ the class!" snarled Li. "This is going on record for the case: the class doing its thing, students of Laaaawndale High achieving their potential, and nothing bad happening like her troublemaking hellspawn-"

"I'd advise against such language in front of-"

"-insinuated would happen! She's going to see wholesomeness and she'll eat it! Eat it, I say!"

The three of them walked onto the auditorium stage.

After five seconds, Foggy turned to Morgendorffer and said: "What will you accept as an out-of-court settlement?"

* * *

Brian was jogging around the back garden, while Daria (who had decided to also jog but quickly changed her mind) stood barking out: "You are tough and you are mean!"

"DANIELSON'S A REAL ESTATING MACHINE!"

"All you do is study and learn!"

"QUALIFICATIONS, FOR I YEARN!"

"Sound OFF!"

"ONE – TWO!"

Then she asked the most complicated question she could find in his textbook. In tune.

_And he answered it._

"Brian, you're making progress."

* * *

Helen was in a _very_ happy mood when she came in.

"Daria, you and Jane are back in school, it's scrubbed off your record, _and_ we get some money out of it! Ha ha, they fought the lawyer _and the lawyer won!_"

"Your victory wouldn't have anything to do with Quinn, would it?"

"It would be against professional ethics to have knowingly used that. But if Li wants to prove a point by showing off the class, well, ethics don't say I have to decline, do they?"

"Everything I knew about ethics, I learnt from my mother. That'll be my defence during the trial."

* * *

Amazon Modelling wouldn't be coming back to school. Li had been very, very specific about that when she'd yelled at them. Something about ruining something for her.

That depressed Stacy. First off, she'd wanted to win that contract. Secondly, both Sandi and Elsie were angry and she knew what _that_ meant.

"What is that supposed to be, Stacy, blush? Not the way you're using it – come on, you'll show us up!"

"Yes, Stacy dear, if you're going to use it, then use it properly. We don't want our enemies being given an opening."

"Whhhyyyy would yooouuuu have enemiiiieeeees, Saaaandi?"

Out of the corner of Stacy's eye, she saw Quinn being high-fived by her gang. She remembered nobody had turned on anyone there, they'd focused their nastiness at outside targets.

That had been nice.

"We do expect an answer, Stay-cee…"

* * *

"Daria! A capitalist pig-dog's here to see you!"

Jake was saying that in a happy-go-lucky voice, so Daria assumed Tom had come round. It turned out he had, holding a CD case and looking slightly bemused by the sight of her dad. And since he'd decided that day to try tribal face paint and he'd used Helen's lipstick for it, Daria didn't blame him.

"Hey. Is that the video?"

"Yeah, one for you and one for Quinn – I already dropped off Jane's. Quinn is… I can't actually think of a polite way to describe it."

"That's my girl!" said Jake happily. "Anyway, I'll leave you two alone – Daria, you tell me if he tries to sell you toxic loans and I'll sort him out, okay?"

Tom watched him go. "Your dad's a character but I don't know what in."

"So Quinn did something lewd then?"

"Oh yeah, they were all doing it, right in front of me. It was a terrible mission you sent me on, truly."

"Pity it got cancelled before they asked for volunteers from the audience. Your money would have been a siren call for them, one not even your fashion sense could stop."

"Ah, doubt any of them would be my type. I like girls who have the same misanthropic sense of humour I do, like Jane and…. Um."

"Um?" Daria looked at him, curiously, then her eyes widened as he figured it out. "Um."

"I should probably… er…"

"Yeah."

"Bye."

Daria's brain repeated _um_ over and over, like a car alarm going off in the night.

* * *

"So, going back to school tomorrow," said Brian, trying not to sound overjoyed (he was failing). "Today's the only study day then."

"Yep."

"I don't need to do this again."

"Yep."

"Oh come on! You can't _make_ me!"

"You're right. But that's not what I meant. I may be unaware of something in the Macho Manly Men Handbook, but – correct me if I'm wrong – when a man makes a big deal about how he should be the breadwinner, he's supposed to actually _try and be_ the breadwinner, right? Lazing around and not studying while Erin does all the work seems not very manly at all, more like… hmmm. What is the word for 'opposite of manly'?"

"You're only sixteen!" he spat. "Who are you to judge me?"

"I'm someone who doesn't suck like a singularity."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"It might say in your textbook. Only one way to find out, eh?"

The silence was filled with words that weren't being said. Angry ones, ones with hate and contempt in every syllable.

"You know, I don't have the time to keep tabs on you, Brian. I have a website to keep up with, homework to run through, an abortive social life that scratches at its cage and wants more daylight… If you want to do nothing, you can go ahead and do nothing. But over the last few days I've had to count on my friends and family. You're the one who proposed to Erin: do you intend to be someone _she_ can count on?"

Daria walked out after that. Further conversation might undermine the guilt trip she'd just dumped on his head, and she wanted the guilt and insult to his masculinity to churn inside until it made him actually do his damn work. If it didn't, well, she'd have to rethink her strategy.

Erin was family, and that meant she could count on Daria.

* * *

The Zon was particularly loud tonight, as the Maleficent Eleven had conned their way into getting beer so they could celebrate Quinn's victory. They'd already started to get hammered when they saw Stacy had entered, looking a bit nervous.

"Hey Stacy!" called out Quinn. "Haven't seen you since the Mall, where you been? Come join us, always room to destroy more livers, eh?"

Stacy smiled. "Sure."

THE END


	7. I Am A Scientist

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 7: I Am A Scientist**

Ms. Barch's class was a seething cauldron of rage and repression. Every fibre of her being wanted to flunk and berate her male students as petty revenge for her divorce, but when everyone had cameras in their phones and parents would call in lawyers if their child was told off for grand arson, she couldn't do that. One time, Daria heard, Ms Barch had gripped a metal chair so hard it _dented_.

" Now, before I divide the class into teams of two, who can give me another example of reinforcement?" The teacher glared at her students as they set in silence. "Fine, class. Ignore me... just like _he_ did! KEVIN!"

The boy sat up. "I didn't do it!"

She opened her mouth, paused, and then shovelled unknown pills into it. "Daria! Reinforcement?"

" Hmm..." Daria thought through this one quickly. "To make a child stop crying, a mother might say, "That's it! I'm sending you to El Paso to live with your real father." Whenever the child gets upset, the mother might wave an airline ticket in her face, or maybe even frame it on the wall by the clown picture. The ticket stops the girl from crying, or showing any emotion... ever. Years later, seeing an airplane or just hearing one fly overhead can unleash a Pandora's Box of repressed anger, shattering the grown child's fragile psyche and triggering a psychotic and possibly deadly episode."

Barch smiled. It was pants-wettingly scary.

"I _like_ the way you think. Kevin... Daria will be your lab partner.

Brittany gave a protesting squeak.

"You two will design a maze, and condition a mouse using positive or negative reinforcement."

"But babe, we've never been separated on a lab project before!" wailed Brittany. "What'll we do?"

"Pass?" said Daria.

"I really like doing mazes," said Kevin, fixing on the one thing he'd understood. "Those ones on the back of cereal boxes are cool."

* * *

Lunch was a time to gain sympathy. Unfortunately, Daria was friends with Jane and Tom.

"Partnered with Kevin? Congratulations! Next best thing to working alone."

"Maybe you could get a wind-up toy to distract him."

"His wind-up toy is working with Upchuck," said Daria.

"What if you partnered with the mouse and put Kevin in the maze?" asked Tom. "The mouse would do a better job."

"I'd never do that. I'd be obliged to let Kevin _out_ of the maze afterwards."

At the sound of his name, the Devil approached, glancing around suspiciously.

"Psst! Daria, um..." He bent over, as if trying to hide. "Can we do the maze thing at my house? I heard your sister's an _Anar-Christ_! Or was it Anti-chist?"

Daria though about that for a second. "Ah, anarchist and Anti-Christ. Kevin, I think I know where you've gone wrong here-"

"Only here?" muttered Jane.

"She's _scary_, Daria! I don't even think _she likes football_! I go in, I might not come out again! Nah, we gotta do it at my house."

"Why are you whispering and trying to hide behind Tom?"

"Oh right, yeah, the other thing: can we not tell anyone you're coming round my house? I mean, that'd look bad."

"Oh yeah, my reputation would be mud after that," spat Daria, irritated that he'd be so blasé about it.

"Oh no, it's my rep I'm thinking of!" he said cheerily. "Good thing that's sorted! See ya!"

The three misfits watched him go in silence. Finally, Tom spoke for them all:

"If he still sleeps with Ratboy bed sheets, can you take a photo?"

* * *

The Thompson's house was easy to find: it still had the "McCain/Palin 08" sign in it. The sign had rotted months ago and teetered sadly, like a depressed zombie. Sighing at the sight, Daria went to the door and knocked.

It was answered by a man with a great bulge where a belly had once been. He looked at Daria. Daria looked at him.

"I'm here to see your son."

He looked at her again.

"I think you have the wrong house," he said, not unkindly.

"It's about the maze project?"

"Ohhh! Yeah, Kevin did say a br- a girl was coming over about that. Come on in, make yourself at home. You like the Pigskin Channel? We got the Pigskin Channel!"

She found Kevin sat in front of the TV, munching away at a huge bag of crisps, his eyes fixated on the old games before him. Daria, recognising a religious experience when she saw one, decided to cut matters short and stand in front of the TV.

"Heyyyy!"

"Hi, Kevin. Ready to work on the maze?"

"Um, well, can we do it in another twenty minutes? This game's almost done and we're up to the good stuff!"

Daria agreed to wait twenty minutes. It gave her a chance to look around the house, and boy did that house love football. Photos from games Kevin and his dad had gone to, photos of games they'd played, old football trophies, a chewed-on child's ball in pride of place with "k3vin's!" written on it, old videos and newer DVDs of football games... They'd even found some space for photos of Kevin's mum, which usually had nothing to do with football and were quite jarring to see.

(She sneaked into Kevin's room but sadly his sheets were not Ratboy ones)

Eventually, Daria noticed it had been forty minutes since she arrived. When she went down, she found a whole new game had started and Kevin was engrossed in that one too.

"Of course."

"What was that, babe?"

_That_ threw her for a loop. "Huh?"

"Whoa, babe, you got a sore throat or someth- Oh! Hey Daria, I forgot you were here."

"Well, you have been engrossed in your schoolwork."

"Uh, sure?"

Shaking her head, she tracked down Mr Thompson to see where the wood and saws were kept. She was starting to see Ms Barch's point.

* * *

The second night, Kevin's mother opened the door and stared at her in a look of uncomprehending terror, a Lovecraft protagonist who'd just seen Cthulhu doing a striptease.

"_You're_ Dora?"

"Daria."

"You're... you..."

"This was a great conversation, but I have to go: Kevin's got a lot of intensive sitting he needs help with."

She grunted a greeting to Kevin – "I'll be there in a second, Daria!" – and headed on to the Thompson's garage.

_So what's _my_ reinforcement here again?_

* * *

Erin Chambers opened the door and looked down at the cheerleader. The cheerleader looked at her.

"I think you've got the wrong house," said Erin, not unkindly.

"Yeah! I thought this was the Morgendorffer's house! Did they get arrested?"

Erin blinked. "There's not a... second family called Morgendorffer in Lawndale, is there? Because we've only got Quinn and Daria here-"

"Ohhhh, this _is_ the right house. You're not what I expected at _all_, Mrs Morgendorffer! Um, is Kevin still here?"

"Noooo, don't know anyone called that. Oh, Daria is staying at the house of a friend named Kevin, is that the one you meant?"

Brittany's resulting squeak was so high that only dogs could hear it.

* * *

"Go C-Bucks!" "Kick ass!" "Yeah, kick ass!"

The Lawndale Lions _all_ had the Pigskin Channel, but there was just something about hanging out with your bro's and watching it as a group. They'd descended on Kevin's house with some brewskis and now it was time to _rock_, man!

Jeffy left the living room for the kitchen, having lost the coin toss for the snack run, and while there he ran into the last thing he'd ever expected to see.

"Whoa! You're... that girl!" He stared in horror. "_You're Kevin's SISTER?_"

"No. I'm helping him study. Haven't you seen how hard he's focusing on his schoolwork?"

"Oh. That makes sense." He went to the cupboards when another thought struck him: "Wait, Kevin _isn't_ focusing on schoolwork!"

By that point, That Girl had left. Had he _dreamed_ her? No, that was stupid, she was waaaay too plain for him to dream up. But that could only mean she was really at Kevin's house, and that could only mean...

He covered his mouth. He must not say it. Kevin was his bro, it _could not_ get out at that Kevin was dating a brain. He would not _let it_ get out. He'd only tell Joey and Jamie and that's it.

* * *

Charlene Thompson had cornered her husband upstairs, hoping he was sober enough to listen.

"That Daria girl, do you think... Well, he hasn't had Brittany round and..." She winced, the idea too horrible to contemplate. "Doug, that girl's someone _no one_ would look twice at and now Kevin's around her? She has to be putting out or plannin' too! That girl's gonna get in a family way _and Kevin will have to get a job and never go to college!_"

Her husband laughed. "Whoa, hold on there, Momma Bear! I'm sure Kevin will be more careful than we were. Besides, she's a brain and Kevin's the QB! Nothing's going to get him interested in her unless she starts _oh Christ you're right!_ What do we do?"

* * *

Meanwhile, at the Morgendorffer's:

"I've been trying to get into the music myself, you know," said Brian. "Started to give that Avril Lavigne a try-"

Jake, Helen and Quinn dropped their glasses in unison. Silence reigned like in a crypt.

"For the sake of family, we'll pretend you never said that," said Helen in a quiet, deadly voice.

* * *

"You should train the mouse to build the maze for you," said Jane as they approached the school. "That'd be at least an A."

"I could use negative reinforcement to do it. If it doesn't build the maze, I show it Quinn's old stuffed animals. And then it will never dare cross me."

As Daria entered the building, she noticed something was amiss. People were actually paying attention to her. Several boys looked at her with calculating expressions, as if trying to locate her breasts, while several girls looked stunned or, in the case of a cheerleader, hostile. Daria briefly glanced behind her, in case this was about someone else.

"Now where's the fun of being unpopular if you don't get ignored and ostracised," she said.

"You didn't do anything last night, did you?"

"Besides go to Kevin's-"

There was a collective gasp from every student in earshot.

Daria frowned. "I committed armed robbery against shivering orphans."

Everyone stopped paying attention.

"Before going to Kevin's."

Gasp!

"Jane, I think I've worked out what's going on but the concept is, frankly, too horrible to think about."

* * *

Maths class with Mr Ewing was usually a time to shut down your higher brain functions; your body would write down the notes for you, but the unstoppable, droning dirge of the man's voice would have shut down Stephen Hawking on acid. And Daria knew something was wrong, because all the guys were awake and talking to each other. And _awake_.

They kept stealing glances at her, so she made sure to look at them with her grimmest, most unflinching stare.

Out of her earshot:

"Kevin can have any girl he wants, and he's got Brittany and she's out to here! So Daria's gotta…"

"We have to find out!"

"I'm gonna find out first!"

"I dunno, man, look at her: is it really possible that-"

"Why _else_ would Kevin be doing it? Maybe it's like blind people, she's making up for it by being a total freak at something else!"

"Man, that's not fair. Why can't the hot chicks be like that?"

"Oh maaaaan, you see the look she just gave me? _Duuuuuuude!_"

"Whooooaaaa. Hey… you know, the boots, maybe she's into-"

"DUUUUUUUUUUUDE!"

Mr Ewing turned round at that, puzzled. Skylar looked back at him, frightened.

"I… really find the subject interesting?"

"No you don't," said Ewing, full of despair.

* * *

The girls bathroom was alive with the sound of crying.

"And Kevvie didn't tell me and he _never_ tells me when he's cheating on me so he _has_ to be with her and _she's her!_ It's so… so demeaning!" Brittany burst into sobs.

Angie gingerly patted her on the back. "There, there. Look, I'm sure there's a way to sort this whole thing out-"

"We should sort _Darlene _out!" swore Nikki, smacking a fist into her hand.

"Daria."

"Whatever. She's upsetting the natural order of the school! And stealing Brit's boy too."

"Yeah…" Brittany's eyes lit up with a feral glee. "YEAH! If that brain thinks she can take Kevvie away, then she can… take some other things! To, like, a hospital!"

"Brittany, remember what the psychiatrist said?" said Angie in a slow and not-panicked-honest voice.

"Yeah, but how will deep controlled breaths and my happy place help me stop Daria?"

She loved the cheerleader captain like a sister, but sometimes Angie could see why Kevin cheated.

* * *

The boys cornered Upchuck before History class.

"We need your advice," said Joey, desperate. "You're the most experienced guy we know with… you know. We need to know: _how likely is it Daria is really a total freak?_"

Upchuck spun his pimp cane and gave his customary grin. "Well, gentlemen, my knowledge of such studious stunners is limited… except for a little thing Ultrasuave Inc produced called Biology Geeks and you _know_ what biology we meant, rrrrrRRRRR!"

The atmosphere was like the Sermon on the Mount.

* * *

"Hey, Daria!"

Daria looked at Joey. Hard.

"…never mind."

"Hey, Daria, you wanna go to the arcade?" asked Robert, leaning over. "Brains do like that, right?"

"Wanna go to Chez Pierre, my treat!"

"Hey, D-babe, how about we just go round my house? Why pretend, eh?"

"HEY class, HOW about we **PAY ATTENTION TO OUR LESSON!**"

"I'm paying attention," said Daria, slumping back into her seat. "I like the Civil War. Lots of men died in it."

* * *

"Do you even _own_ a pair of black high heels?" asked Jane.

"At least they aren't saying I own knee high leather boots."

Tom winced. "Well, actually…"

She'd managed to get through the first half of the day, but only by the promise of Taco Day at the cafeteria. Unfortunately, now she was an easier target. Case in point:

"_Hey_," smarmed a red Mohawk football jock. "How do you like convertibles?"

"I got off on messy car crashes," she said, not bothering to look up. "Total it first and I'm all yours."

"Okay."

Her eyes widened. That she had not expected.

"The cinema's rerunning Brokeback Mountain, could we go see that?"

The player froze, shivered, and walked away fast.

"If any of them say 'yes' to that, I start pretending I'm a Scientologist," she said.

"It really sucks that you've got to go through this," said Tom, looking annoyed. "I… well look, you want to pretend we're dating so the guys will think you're taken?"

"Hell no. I'm not playing pretend because of a bunch of idiots."

Tom was stunned by that. She immediately looked at the floor and not at him, embarrassed.

"I, erm, didn't mean 'hell no' like… erm."

"We can pretend I'm dating you, and then all the guys will come after me because they think I'm a hot bisexual who's easy," said Jane cheerily. "Then everyone wins!"

Daria smiled at Jane. _Thanks for the save._

"But then you'll start getting girls too," said Tom, happily taking advantage of the save himself. "And what will you do with them then?"

"Oh, them I'll redirect to Daria. Fair's fair."

"I'm left out. Why can't I be a girl?"

"You looked so good that time in my clothes…"

"You were in a weird art mood that day."

"Hmmm? Oh yeah, for art. Aha."

"Maybe I should look into girls," said Daria. "It might work better. To tell the truth, for years I thought I'd lost _any_ interest in boys because of Butt-head back in middle school. He farted in class."

"I hate to tell you this Daria, but he's not alone in that. You've got Geography with Miss Bea 'the Musical' Frett."

"Oh no." Daria's expression was grim. "He didn't just fart. He spent _forty eight hours _consuming nothing but beans, curries, burgers, burritos… and held it in until the day we had a test, with the strategic goal of creating a stench so horrible the classroom would have to be abandoned and the test left. I know this because after he farted, he told me about it. And laughed."

"Did it work?" asked Tom. "Because there's a really dull social event Pat Seven and I are being dragged to next week, and he said he'll do anything to get us out of it."

"The teacher made us do the test. _Forty five minutes_ _in that room._ Butt-head agreed his plan sucked, and we had to stop Beavis trying to light the place."

When Daria looked to her right, she saw a boy had come over and, based on his expression, had heard the whole story.

"I have fifty more stories just like that one and I will go through them in chronological order starting…. Yeah, you better run."

* * *

"…you know, Scientology has always fascinated me! I'd love to hear all about it!"

Daria stared at Jeffy, aghast. "How desperate _are_ you?"

He looked at his shoes.

_This is the absolute nadir. It cannot be topped._

As if to mock her, Upchuck appeared at that very moment.

"Well, the delightful Daria! I've-"

Right, that was it. She'd hoped to avoid this, but it was time for the A-Bomb.

"I can't, I'm already dating…" She thought quickly for a name. "…Corey?"

"Hey, I won't tell him if _you_ don't!"

_Shit. _"How about we don't and say we did? I'll even help boost your rep by claiming you gave me an STD."

"RrrrRRRR! Feisty!"

"Corey said he didn't get a date!" cried Jeffy, sounding hurt. "I can't believe he lied to us!"

_There really_ is _a Corey?_

The boy stormed off, swearing that young Corey would pay for his crimes. Daria breathed a sigh of relief, now only needing to walk away fast from Upchuck – but then Brittany turned up, flanked by other cheerleaders and looking angry.

"All _right_, Missy Morgendorffer! You stay away from my Kevvie or, or, or…"

"Or I'll have to spend time talking to him? Now that's a threat."

Brittany lowered her head, raised her fists up, and then, to Daria's shock, _charged._

"HAAAAAAAIIIIII-"

As luck would have it, Daria had a bootlace untied and when she tried to step back, she tripped over and fell on her butt. The cheerleader's momentum caused her to move past the fallen girl and punch Upchuck in the gut instead. (A random girl cheered)

"_Don't think you can stop me with evasion tactics!"_ she screamed, spittle flying from her mouth. _"Pursuit and destroy! Target the enemy-"_

"Brit!" called out Angie, panicked. "Happy place! _Whiskers on kittens!_"

Without warning, the girl's face relaxed into a happy smile. "I _love_ kitties! They're fluffy and cute and they make those adorable purring noises and awwwwww…"

Daria slowly got off the floor, hoping to creep off, when Brittany turned round.

"If you think you're going to take Kevin away from me, you're wrong. Because he's my Kevin, and you're, you're a... a _brain._"

"You know, 'Brit', that was a _surprisingly_ astute observation about the likelihood of my dating your _walking RealDoll_," snarled Daria.

"I don't have a doll called Real," said Brittany, sounding genuinely confused and as if she'd forgotten she'd tried to assault her. "I have some Kens though!"

"You know, I don't expect you cretins to understand when I use words of four or more syllables, but you could at least have the brain cells to tell when I'm insulting you like you deserve!"

She stormed off to the bathroom, shoving aside anyone in her path, and her rage did not end until she was in there and there was nobody to see her slump against the wall, depressed and beaten.

* * *

Jake opened the door and looked at the tracksuited woman. The woman looked at him. Then she looked at his leather skirt.

"I forgot all my pants were in the wash," he said, embarrassed. "Not that there's anything wrong with a man wearing a skirt! Jake's no transphobic square, oh no! I, I, I bet I like wearing a skirt!"

"Please stop. I'm Charlene – Kevin Thompson's mother?"

"Kevin's the… one with the spiky black hair and the eyebrow ring, right? I can _definitely_ say he slept in our spare room like he said and didn't go out to Zon all night!"

"Kevin's been sleeping over here _too?_ And your daughter's got him dressing like a… like a… _people like you?_"

"Hey!" snarled Jake, slamming his hand into the doorframe. "How _dare_ you blame Quinn just because you-"

"Wait, Quinn?" Charlene laughed slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry! I think I've got the wrong house."

"Oh, that's okay," he said, immediately brightening up. "We're the Morgendorffers, you must want the Morgans across the road. That mix-up happens all the time! Heh heh, oh that time their church group came here by mistake…"

"Oh. Wait, no, this is the right house. It's about your other daughter? She's been… visiting our son over a science project, and… well…" She clasped her hands together as if praying. "We're… erm… worried that a girl like Daria might… well, be making a bad decision around our Kevin and sort of… erm… Look, he can't become a father at age 16! His football career would be ruined!"

Jake stared at her in utter horror.

"My baby girl's _seeing a jock?_ OH GOD!"

* * *

The Fashion Club was in emergency session. (Like, so what if it was Geography class? Bor-ing. And anyway, it kept their faces away from Miss Frett in case of… mishaps)

"This, like, is a calamity worse than that time you wore stretch pants, Stacy."

"They were leggings, I _swear!_"

"The entire male body at school is focused on this 'Dora' or 'Dar' or whatever, this brain, and nobody is looking to us for dates. I asked Skylar if he'd like to buy me dinner at Chez Pierre and he, like, said _no_."

"Whooooo could turn thaaaaat dooowwwwwnnn?"

"Exactly. Tomorrow, we need to regain the initiative with a major fashion offensive. We need to throw out the existing weekly plan and improvise."

"With a crisis this big, we may need to throw out decorum," said Elsie, looking grim. "We need to show _summer clothing_ levels of flesh."

Sandi nodded, her usual spats with Elsie on hold for the duration. "Agreed. If we don't stop this madness soon, then we might have to _start accepting less extravagant dates_."

"We'll die before that happens, Sandi!"

"What do you think she's doing that's attracting them all?" asked Stacy. "Maybe we could learn it for ourselves…"

"An admirable suggestion, Stacy dear, but no: if we act like we can learn anything from brains, it'll just encourage them."

Stacy didn't reply, and spent the rest of the conversation lost in thought.

* * *

"Knock knock."

Daria didn't bother to look up. "This is the girl's bathroom, and unless there's something you're not telling us…"

"I'm a risk-taker," said Mack, slumping on the wall next to her. "Your friends are worried about you, you never showed for Language Arts."

"Wow, I really missed out there."

"Angie told me what happened. It's probably a bit late to warn you that Brittany has anger management issues. She might have anger management _volumes_, in fact: her therapist is really earning their salary."

"I _can't believe_ this day has happened. You realise I've sometimes wished more guys would pay attention to me? I didn't really want to date them, I just wanted the ego boost of knowing I could if I wanted to. And now they all are and I long for ostracisation again. The last time this happened to me was when I mistakenly joined an MMORPG under a female identity, but I could get away from creeps by turning the damn computer off. I can't turn school off."

"Kevin – and you'll be amazed here – hasn't heard any of these rumours. If I mention them to him, he'll probably deny it to everyone."

"Oh great. What a perfect solution, have the town idiot tell everyone I'm sexually repugnant really. _Great_ plan, Mack."

He paused, clearly holding back a retort. "Best I can do, sorry."

"Why are you helping me? We barely say anything to each other ever."

"Well, you needed it. Come on, Jane's going nuts looking for you."

* * *

The end of school meant every male student in the area would be outside. Waiting.

"This is going to be hell."

"If it'll help, I'll drive you home," said Tom.

"That would." She bit her lip. "Um…"

Without warning, a leather-gloved arm slammed down on Daria's shoulder. It was attached to Quinn.

"Sis, the droogs and I are ready to punch your way to freedom! And maybe kick some people too."

Daria turned to see the Maleficent Eleven standing to attention, and with them was Jane, shrugging.

"I had a word with Quinn."

Daria smiled. "Thanks."

"Now let's go HEADBUTT some tossers!"

One of the gang coughed. "Oh, and Dee, if any of the rumours are true-"

"Shut up Koichi" said Quinn, "you're already on thin ice after you used my stash without asking."

Tom and Jane watched as the gang stormed out, kicking Jeffy off the steps and clearing a path for Daria with fire, blood and anguish.

"In fairness, I couldn't have done that," said Tom.

"Regular knight in thrift-store armour, aincha?"

"I just like Daria, that's all."

"Oh okay. She told me she thought you were cute."

"She did?"

"Psyche."

"Darn."

* * *

She went to her room the instant she got home, not speaking to anyone or bringing attention to herself. She wanted sanctuary.

She meant to work on Lawndale Leaks and get the page on the Fashion Club up to date, but her fingers just hovered over the keyboard, touching nothing as her mind tried to get out of its pit. Finally she gave up, snarling at her computer, and opened up a Word document and just started to hammer away.

Within minutes, weaponised Ebola was sweeping across Lawndale High and hundreds of named individuals were dying horrible, bloody deaths. Brittany's eyes had melted from their sockets and Kevin was watching his hands dissolve before him and Upchuck was excreting his every vital organ. This kept her distracted for an hour.

_There's the politics thread on Sick, Sad Message Board. I can yell at stupid people over and over, that's always fun._

Before she could start, her bedroom door slammed open.

"Daria," said her mother, "we just want to talk-"

"WHATEVER KEVIN'S PROMISED YOU, IT'S NOT WORTH IT! STAY STRONG, DARIA!"

Helen sighed. "Snake, dear…"

"_sorry"_

"Daria, Kevin's mother came here earlier and she felt there was something… problematic going on. Now sweetie, we won't judge you if-"

"OH CRUEL FATE!"

"Jake!"

"Absolutely nothing is going on between me and Kevin," said Daria through gritted teeth. "Nothing, in fact, is going on with me and _any_ boy, or ever _will_. And I'd like there to be at least one place in this circle of hell where I don't have to put up with sordid rumours because I was _forced_ to work with someone on a science project."

Helen's face fell. "Oh. Oh, honey-"

"You've been FORCED?" Jake, unable to contain his fury, headbutted the wall. "GAH DAMN IT! Daria, you are now forever banned from that house and if the school wants to pimp you out to their pigskin freaks again, you can tell them you have a note from Jake the Snake himself saying NEVER! And he's banned from setting foot here! EVERYONE'S BANNED! NO FUTURE!"

Helen growled. "Jake, that's _not_ helping-"

"Can you write the note now?" asked Daria. She was smiling, a bigger smile than she'd shown in years.

"Sure thing, kiddo! Pbbt, and the old man said I'd never be able to rule my household…"

Her mother watched Jake go, trying to work out what had happened. "Won't this stop you completing your experiment?"

"Hey, you heard the man. I can't argue with my own father." She was still smiling. "Tragic."

"Uh-huh." Helen quietly shut the room's door. "Daria… about what you said…"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I see. Well, if you ever _do_…"

"I know."

"And for the record, there was a time when I thought _I_ would never attract any boys and had nothing that'd attract any of the good guys. But life's a funny thing."

* * *

When Daria went outside to walk to school, she found Tom waiting with the Car That Time Forgot.

"Lift to school, help you avoid most of the unwashed crowds?"

"An offer I can't refuse."

She got into the car and he turned the key. The engine coughed once and then stopped, like a dying man. He turned it again, but there was just a sound of silence.

"Ah. Well, there goes my sense of manhood."

"Don't panic, the blood of virgins might revive it."

The two of them emerged to find Quinn watching them, smiling smugly at Tom. "My car is…" she sang, "a PIECE OF SHIT!" She ran off, yelling out "I wanna drive you off a cliff, watch you crash into a ravine for the things you did ta me, you STUPID CAR!"

"I'm going to have to agree with Quinn on this one," said Daria. "Sorry."

"No, that's fair."

* * *

As they approached school, they were intercepted by Jane – it turned out she'd been running recon.

"Now, don't panic Daria, but there's now a rumour going around that you've been having quickies with Mack. He denied it, which just made it worse."

"OH GOD."

"Yeahhhh. Angie's confused because she knows Mack wouldn't, ahem, 'go there', and Kevin's really confused because people have told him Mack's seeing his girlfriend and he thought they meant Brittany and is now wondering if he's forgotten having a second girlfriend."

"So now I'm more in demand than before."

"Yeahhhh. And oh crap, the track team's just spotted us. _Run Daria I'll cover you! EVAC EVAC!"_

At that moment, the Fashion Club arrived in borderline-obscene skimpy outfits, leaving nothing to the imagination. Nobody noticed. But they sure noticed every guy in the track team running past them yelling out Daria's name.

"All right," growled Sandi. "The time has come for drastic action. Prepare for Operation Puke-Inducing."

Elsie paled. "Agreed."

Unnoticed, Stacy looked at the departing track team with a calculating expression.

* * *

At the end of Science class, Daria approached Ms Barch's desk.

"Um, about the assignment… I had to change it slightly."

The teacher raised an eyebrow. "Problems explaining the experiment to that neanderth- to that idi- to your partner?"

"In the same way the Antarctic is a bit chilly. Anyway, I can't finish the experiment that you assigned. However, I have written up a report on a different experiment that also involves negative reinforcement." She handed the paper over. "It's about how omnipresent male gaze and unthinking, chauvinistic assumptions in a male-dominated environment can cripple a developing woman's interest in relations and sex, and her very self worth."

Ms Barch began to smile, slowly and terribly. "You get an A."

"You haven't read it yet."

"I'm making an educated guess."

* * *

In the locker room, an irate Kevin spun Mack round and jabbed a finger in his face: "All right, _bro_, if you still _call_ yourself that! I just want to know _one thing!_ Um, which girl are you stealing away from me?"

"I'm not."

"Oh." Kevin smiled. "Okay!"

Sigh. "Glad to be of help."

* * *

Elsie made sure nobody was looking, then slipped Upchuck a fifty-dollar note.

"Now remember, you only had one of us and we were awesome, but keep the hints vague so it could be any one of us. That's the _deal._"

"Oh, believe me darling, Master Ruttheimer keeps his promises – though may I suggest it'd make for a more convincing story if I _really_-"

"We will _never _be that desperate."

* * *

Daria had started hiding in the library to avoid people (which meant the type of kid who went to the library was trying to score with her, but she could hit them with hardbacks), but eventually school was over and she'd have to brave the mobs.

To her delight, they were much reduced from before: now, most boys seemed to be congregating on a single point.

"That," said Jane, pointing it out, "is the Fashion Club under siege. They started a rumour about themselves to steal your thunder. By next week, the guys will have forgotten you again."

"Thank you God, for the gift of small breasts."

"Well, okay, your reputation will probably last, but at least you're not flavour of the month, eh?"

"If I never see a male again, it'll be too soon. And unfortunately, my cousin hasn't yet wised up and butchered her fiancé so it really will be too soon."

"It won't always be like this, amiga."

"I hope not."

In the distance, Sandi could be heard pleading "no, no boys with mullets! No boys with mullets! HELP!".

* * *

The end of our story will take place in the evening, but a scene of interest happens later, at a semi-trendy nightclub.

She'd had to sneak into a thrift store and hope nobody saw her, and the too-long skirt and the frumpy blouse both itched, and she was worried she hadn't taken the price sticker of the Sexy Scientist Glasses (now only $4.99 at Costume Drama!). But, along with a deliberate lack of make-up, it all made Stacy look like a complete nerd. A brain.

And okay, the Fashion Club had regained their top spot fast, but the rumours about Daria and brains still lingered, and maybe that could mean…

Jeffy sidled up to her, a very hopeful grin on his face. "Well _hey!_ Haven't seen you around before! I'm Jeffy, what's your name, would you like a drink?"

She smiled. "Stacy. And sure!"

* * *

Tom's car was still outside the Morgendorffer house when they came back, and it still refused to start.

"Well, guess I need a new car. My dad will be thrilled. And I'm not sarcastic here, he's been trying to get the Rustmobile towed away for weeks."

"I'm worried my parents will leave it here," said Daria. "They'll think the sight will be punk. They may slash the tyres to complete the effect."

"My attempt to be helpful and manly kinda sucked, huh?"

"The effort is appreciated. That makes a total of _two_ whole guys who did something."

"I'd say you can't judge our whole gender on this one incident, but you like judging things so what the hey."

"This really confirms what Butt-head taught me: I must end my interest in men and switch to women. Or robots. Hard enough to talk to guys, let alone survive a date with them."

"You're talking to one right now, you know."

"Still doesn't mean I'd survive a date with you."

"There's a very obvious response I can make here."

"Yes there is."

"Yup indeed."

"Very obvious."

"We are so dodging saying what the response is."

"Well it goes without saying."

"One of us will break down soon."

"This is exceedingly likely."

"So, um, how about the weather, eh?"

"It's… weathery."

"Oh hell with it, do you want to-"

"_yesplease"_

Silence reigned.

THE END


	8. Eff Christmas

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 8: Eff Christmas**

**HIGHLAND, TEXAS  
DECEMBER 23 1994**

The tape starts. Amy, now a messy-haired young woman, is staring deep into the lens, and smiles as she sees the camera work.

"I guess you really _do_ become more powerful than I imagine when you're struck down – well, dropped." She coughs. "This is Amy Barksdale, with a breaking edition of _Freaks, Creeps, and Phantasms_! Once again, we've been allowed access to the elusive and feared Morgendorffer tribe, the Scourge of the Burbs! The question of everyone's lips: how long can our reporter survive before the tribe matriarch turns on her once more? Odds on 'tonight' are currently 5 to 1..."

The camera moves closer towards a bungalow. It's a cheap affair, but someone's tried to brighten it up with spraypaint; the anarchy symbol and a smiley face dominate the wall. An aging black wagon sits in the driveway. Off camera, Amy is humming the Jaws theme as she gets nearer.

The door opens before she gets there, revealing the 29 year old figure of Jack the Snake, monstrous in his leather, piercings, and "I'M THE DADDY" T-shirt.

"Hey, Amy! Oooh, another report! Can I be the studio expert again? I love that!"

"So, Mr Snake, the question our audience wants to know: are relations with the wider world still under threat or has glasnost been reached?"

"Rita sent us a card again!" he beams. "Right there in the address, 'to Jake and Helen', cordially wishing us a merry Christmas! Wasn't that nice?"

"Helen wasn't happy to see it, was she." Amy sounds amused.

"No, no, she was very moody for a while after she saw it. How'd you guess? Oh, you go in, I'll go fetch your bags."

Amy enters the house, sweeping the hallways with her camera. She gives a tentative call of "Helen? I'm afraid I'm here!".

"Kitchen!"

The camera moves into the kitchen. It's a crowded place, with more plates, cutlery and glasses than it can hold, and signs of recent cleaning. On the main table, Helen "Hellion Wheels" Morgendorffer (she is currently trying a shaved-head look) is wiping the mouth of a small pink thing.

"This is a _Freaks, Creeps, and Phantasms_ exclusive! Right here, right now, we're getting our first look at-"

"_Now_, Amy? Really?"

"-we're getting our first look at the legendary _Daria Patti Morgendorffer!_"

There is an expectant pause before Helen, sighing, raises the tiny form up to the camera. A two-month-old baby looks into the lens with a vacant, almost bored expression.

"Awwwwwww! Okay, okay, I was going to do this later, but I just have to now-"

The camera is placed down on the table, and confused activity can be heard. When it's picked up again, we see that the infant Daria now has a Santa hat on. She does not look any less bored. Helen is smirking.

"Two months old and she's sold out to commercialism already. What a disappointment!"

"We hope to get Daria's opinion on that statement later, but for now this show is taking a commercial break—"

* * *

Christmas was coming to Lawndale, and the inside of the Morgendorffer house looked like a tinsel bomb had been detonated in it. A fake tree, battered yet defiant like Blitz London, creaked in the corner, and Helen carefully placed a cartoon devil on the top.

"Honey?" called out Jake from the hall. "Should I spraypaint 'Happy Holidays' or 'Happy Commercialism' on the wall outside?"

"Hmmm. 'Happy Holidays.' That _really_ pisses the social conservatives off."

"All right!"

Helen got down from her stepladder and surveyed her work. She frowned, then deliberately broke one of the baubles.

"That looks much better. Quinn! Give me a hand smashing all the baubles in the house!"

A cry of utter joy came from upstairs, followed by the sound of things breaking. Helen smiled: the joy of children was what the Christmas season was all about. The thought of "joy" and "children" made her inevitably think of Daria; it was a pity she had to be out with a friend. She was always so good with the spraypaint slogans...

* * *

Daria's first date with Tom. Daria's first date with _anyone_.

The very concept was terrifying. She had no real-world frame of reference, she had no idea if she should do or say anything she wouldn't otherwise say or do with Tom, she had the fear that Something Bad would happen and he'd want to avoid her from then on.

Luckily, Tom had picked a safe, soothing place for a first date. He'd pick the arcade. Shooting zombies, Daria thought, might calm her down.

She thought wrong.

"You're already dead! Be more dead already! GAH DAMN IT DIE crap."

"Player Two Has Left The Game," intoned Tom, continuing to play with an irritating abundance of talent. "Come on Daria, if you don't get good at this how will you learn how to murder all our classmates during the inevitable apocalypse?"

"All the ones that DeMartino doesn't get to first, anyway."

"He could be a zombie."

"If he hasn't died from a heart attack yet, he's not going to die of _anything_."

"So the secret to a successful date with you is killing things and bitching with people? Man, I do that all the time anyway. Where were you last year?" He thought his last line over. "I mean killing things in games, not in the Norman Bates sense. Though since you've never seen my mother and me in the same place at the same time, for all you know…"

"Well, we've killed many things and have been killed ourselves, thus completing the food chain. Speaking of, we going to lunch after this?"

"Sure. Pizza, right?"

"You know me so well."

She briefly worried that she should have asked to go somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't a regular haunt anyway, but squashed the thought before it could breed any offspring.

* * *

There was a new "Winter Wonderland" pizza at Pizza King, just out in time for Christmas, but investigation proved it was just a plain pizza with white sugar sprinkled on it. They thought nobody would fall for such crap, but then they saw Kevin eating some.

"So what do you want for Christmas?" asked Tom. "I hear people get presents for people they're dating, you see."

"Could you buy me a fuel-air bomb to use on the school?"

"Maybe. What's the back-up present?"

"Books," they both said in unison. Both smiled.

"How about you?"

"Oh, gee, good question. All I really want is a new car and Dad's sorting that out before Christmas, so… Well, I'll leave it up to you."

She took a bite out of her pizza. "I hear it's the thought that counts, so I'll just think really hard about buying a present and we'll say that was the present."

"Got anything planned?"

"My parents hold a Christmas Eve party ever year, that's pretty much it. That and sleeping in late."

"Ha, only the one party? I envy you. Old money loves its parties, and my parents can only turn down so many invitations before it looks suspicious. I'd invite you along as my plus-one, but I'd like to _stay_ dating you."

Daria looked down at the table and its interesting stains. "Um. Yeah?"

"It is a pretty strange concept," said Tom, "interesting, funny girl attracting a boy. I must be on drugs or something."

"Well could you Just Say Yes for the near future?" muttered Daria, blushing slightly.

"I shall take Shaggy up as a role model."

* * *

Tom walked her home, so the two of them could point at and mock her neighbour's Christmas decorations.

"..._the whole nativity_, on their lawn, in statue form. Well, I guess at least Baby Jesus won't be getting lonely."

"I can't wait to see what they do for Easter."

As they reached her house, they were greeted by the sounds of raised voices: Daria's parents having a loud debate with an irate neighbour about culture war and how America was a Christian country. The two of them had responded to _that_ with...

"Are your parents calling upon Satan?" asked Tom.

"Mm."

She'd worried about this: her parents and Tom in the same vicinity. He knew _of_ her parents and had briefly seen her dad, and they knew that she had a friend called Tom who was from a family with money (and had seen his car get towed away), but there was no awareness beyond that. There'd only been one encounter and that had been embarrassing: Tom had been bewildered (and who could blame him?) and tried to joke his way out of it, and her father had automatically referred to him as "capitalist pig-dog" _on sight_.

That was one brief encounter, before anything had been going on. Now it was...

He'd sounded confused. That was potentially a promising sign. It wasn't a negative reaction. He was used to Quinn and he already knew her parents were odd, maybe...

_If they talk to him for more than ten seconds – oh god, if he says his_ surname-

"I'll walk the rest of the way," she said, a little snappier than she'd intended.

"Er, okay," he said, confused still. "Do you want me to call-"

"No! No, I'll call you. It's... Bye."

She walked quickly, hoping to widen the gap between them before her parents turned round.

The neighbour was storming off, while her parents were dancing in a semi-circle and singing:

_"SATAN! We're worshipping SATAN! Because Satan has the things that we adore! SATAN! We're worshipping SATAN! Because Satan keeps us stocked with drugs and whores!"_

"Oh hey kiddo," said Jake, turning round as she reached the front yard. "Where've you been?"

"Just out. With a friend. Nothing special."

"Is that him there?"

Her father waved. With leaden feet, she turned round to see Tom tentatively waving back. Damn it.

"That's your friend Tom, right?" asked her mother. "You know, we're already inviting Trent to the party: if you'd like to invite your friends along too-"

"Maybe, I don't know if Tom will be able to come."

Inside, her mind screamed "OH **** " again and again.

* * *

That had been odd, Tom had to admit. Now he'd expected that, to some extent. He knew Daria had little experience with dating. It was likely she'd get confused and nervous, and wouldn't be very intimate first time round. Fine.

But then she'd closed in on herself and started to snap near the end, with no warning. What was that about? Had he done something that had irritated her, should he have not asked about her parents? Did she not want her parents to see him, was he a shameful secret?

_I'm the shameful one not good enough for their family? Now that's just the wrong way round_ he thought, and immediately felt guilty about thinking it.

Maybe the second try would end better.

* * *

The house had been decorated but Daria barely noticed that. Her only concern was getting to her room before anyone could talk to her more. In her room, she was safe and protected.

_Okay, be logical. I can invite Jane only and say Tom was busy... no, Jane and Tom talk, he'd find out I never invited him and then I'd need an excuse that could be contradicted. Okay, right: I can just not invite him and explain why. He's reasonable, he might understand. And then might decide I come with too much baggage..._

Oh DAMN IT, I should have hugged or kissed him or something at some point.

"Joy to the sodding world," she muttered under her breath.

* * *

**CHEVY CHASE, MARYLAND  
CHRISTMAS EVE 1997**

The tape starts with an establishing shot of a house: we recognise its type from earlier tapes.

"Warning: this documentary of the Barksdale-Morgendorffer extended family Christmas will contain scenes of graphic arguing right from the start. Viewers of a sensitive disposition are advised to move state." Amy sounds fed up.

She rings the doorbell and is answered by Edie Barksdale, aging but still sharply fashionable.

"Amy," she says coolly. "I do hope you won't be showing the family up with your camera games."

"Just wanted to film the happy occasion."

"Keep it that way." She goes inside, not waiting for Amy to follow.

"So, beloved daughter, how's that new job as a TV reporter seen by millions across the country? Oh, not so bad, not so bad, meeting lots of interesting people…"

The house is refined and expensive, and full of noise that doesn't quite fit such a place. Most of it is coming from a adorable gurgling red-haired toddler, who is running around at high speed and sometimes yells "KISTMUS!". An eight-year-old girl, a brunette in a tasteful dress, is giggling and playing with her. Two boys, an eight-year-old and a five-year-old, are fighting over a toy robot, but deliberately keeping the noise down so nobody will notice.

In another part of the room, the grown-ups are 'talking'. (All are dressed for the occasion; Helen and Jack have their normal hair colour and a few less piercings) Helen is having a tense conversation with a slightly older woman, a demure sort with the same hair as Jake, who views Helen with guarded suspicion.

"And here we see the collapse of diplomacy, as Jake's sister – this reporter can't remember her name and neither can you – erects fences across her borders..."

Rita is pointedly _not_ facing Helen at all, and is in polite talk with an old woman.

"...desperate alliances are being formed between the states of Rita Jun-Ho and Ruth Morgendorffer, with the loss of all other neighbours..."

Three men we haven't seen before are attempting a conversation; one of the men is dressed in an airline captain's uniform and carries the air of someone who expects to be called "Captain" at the start of each sentence, and the other men (a Korean with a southern accent and an aging but handsome man in a sharp suit) have desperate smiles on their faces and glance at each other.

"...and the Husband Alliance is in danger of severe break-up as Captain Ryan Steele makes unfair demands on the other parties, namely that they spend more than five seconds talking to him. Even veterans of _Barksdale_ women lack the arsenals for that!"

In the corner, an old man with service medals on his suit is talking to Jake, who looks like he's trying not to explode.

"Evacuate Chevy Chase, people – the J-Bomb could go off _at any moment_."

Amy turns the camera to see a three year old Daria sitting on her own in the corner, patiently looking at a picture-book about dinosaurs and mouthing names to herself. The camera starts to move towards Daria, when Edie reaches the girl first.

"Daria, _what_ have I told you?"

The girl doesn't reply, but lowers her head.

"This is shameful behaviour, it really is – what _must_ people think of you, being so rude? You'll never get anywhere behaving like this." She yanks the book from the unprotesting Daria's hands. "You can have this back after dinner, now go and behave yourself."

She walks off, heading towards the three men with a mutter of "'Captain', god's sake". The camera doesn't follow her. Instead, it moves towards Daria and comes down as Amy kneels.

"Hey there, sprat," she says gently. "You don't want to play with your cousins?"

"Not really," says Daria, her voice having a nasal quality to it. "Erin's games are weird, and Finn and John don't want to play with me anyway."

"You know, I think it's quite possible this house might be _haunted_. There should be a _Sick, Sad World_ report, Junior Reporter Morgendorffer."

Daria smiles a little half-smile. "Okay."

"Maybe we'll even catch Santa early! What did you ask him when you saw him at the mall?"

The girl looks around nervously. "Please don't tell Mummy and Daddy, but..." She looks at the camera, quite solemnly, and whispers: "_That's not Santa at the mall_. He sounded different on two different days and I heard another mall had a Santa. It's a man lying."

"Oh! Why don't you want your Mum and Dad to know?"

"They think it's the real Santa. Dad was really excited about it. He kept talking about it all the way there and back. He'd be upset if he knew it was a lie."

There's a pause before Amy replies: "I won't say a word, I promise."

As she starts to stand up, the camera winks out.

* * *

It was that most glorious of days: the last day of Lawndale High before the holidays started.

Everyone was in the festive spirit. Steve and the other security guards wore Santa hats as they frisked you and pointed tasers; Ms Defoe was letting the Art class make their own Christmas cards; Mr Ewing hadn't even turned up for Maths class (nobody realised for half an hour), letting people have a break as his present to them; Mr O'Neill was trying to give cheery Christmas greetings, then tried to be inclusive and mention other holidays, then worried he was offending Christian students by saying "happy holidays"; and Mr DeMartino was gleefully teaching about Christmas on the Eastern Front of WW2.

Daria decided she'd give DeMartino an extra Christmas present.

"I don't think I understand," she said. "Could you go into more graphic detail, especially on the fate of young, teenaged draftees?"

DeMartino grinned and all his teeth were shown.

The final subject was Gym, and Ms Morris was also in a festive mood. She was so festive, she was getting everyone to do Christmas-themed cheerleading chants and routines.

"Funny how this festive activity is the same thing you'd do if you were trying to sneak a cheerleader practice into regular gym class," said Jane, in earshot of Morris.

The teacher turned round and smiled. "Oh no. I'm just trying to do something _fun_ for Christmas. I'm untouchable if it's fun at Christmas."

"I don't like fun," said Daria. "Can I go home early?"

"I'm allergic to fun and have a note," added Jane.

"Nice try, ladies. Now work on those splits."

As they watched, Brittany – doing a perfect split – fell onto her face.

"Daria, if you have a plan to get out of this, I'm right behind you, especially if it involves stripping or murder."

"Sure. Remember I told you about my parent's and the Satan song?"

Daria's plan worked very quickly and made one cheerleader start crying.

* * *

"Hey, would _all four_ of you go out with me? Because I heard-"

The Fashion Club, as one entity, ran away. Ever since they'd created rumours that they were sexually easy, this had been happening. They were starting to think that maybe, just maybe, they shouldn't have attempted that tactic. (But then they remembered they were becoming _a bit less popular_ before and that strengthened their resolve)

"This is getting extremely difficult," said Sandi. "We are getting dates but… well."

"On the plus side, the guys are spending a lot more on us now," said Elsie.

"True, very true, but some of the guys coming up… I mean, that last one. What was he _thinking?_ Those shoes were so last season."

"Yeeeeaaaahhhhhhhh."

"When do you think we should…" Stacy gulped. "Um. Perform?"

Sandi turned to her, horrified. "_Sta_-cy! The Club has, like, standards to uphold! Is someone getting too pushy?"

"Yeah, the rest of us would need to know to not date him," said Elsie.

"I meant… eh, whatever. Point is, we're don't perform. We're better than that."

Stacy breathed a sigh of relief. "I was really worried about that! Thanks Sandi!"

At that point, her mobile phone rang. Apologising to the Club, she walked away to take the call: a brief check saw it was Jeffy calling. As she clicked to answer, her voice changed slightly and her posture altered.

"Hi, Jeffy! How are things going?"

"Oh, um, okay Stacy – oh hey, wanna go out again tonight? And my house is totally free later if you want to, you know-"

"Oh _I_ know," she smirked. "That'd be nice. Café Lawndale meet-up? I can check Wired online while waiting."

"Uh, sure! See ya!"

After she hung up, another call came in: Quinn. Her posture slouched, her voice got rougher.

"Hey Killer!"

"Hey Death Rowe! How's Oakwood – okay, I don't give a shit, look, the gang's going out later tonight, you in?"

"Piss, can't. Some preppy jock actually asked me out on a date – figured I'd have fun breaking him in and shit, see if he wants to hang with cheerleaders after that!"

"_Rock on!_ Have fun!"

Stacy hung up and instantly went back to being Stacy Prime. She ran back to the Club, terrified what Stacy and Elsie would be thinking now she was late omg what if they thought she was putting out _omg omg!_

_

* * *

_

"I have a new car!" said Tom, beaming happily.

"Really?" said Jane. "I never knew! If only you'd told me about it seven times earlier in the day, I might have figured it out."

"Hey, I'm a guy and I have a new mechanical penis substitute. It makes me happy."

"How much rust has this one got?" asked Daria.

"None, sadly: my dad shoved one of his old ones on me. But _first chance_ I get, I'm buying a piece of crap, just you wait."

The three of them headed for the school parking lot, and right there was a Jaguar XJ. It didn't look second-hand. The black metal gleamed like polished leather. The edges were sleek, the roof a panoramic glass affair, the headlights like narrowed eyes. This was a car that said "I am richer than you, bitch".

"This is a car that screams 'please steal me'," said Jane.

"Nah, if car thieves go near it, they start to feel inadequate and below its station. It's got an aura to it."

"It looks new," said Daria faintly.

"Jaguar XJ," said Tom, and he sounded somewhat embarrassed that she'd pointed this out. "Only came onto the market in 2009. My dad had a new car, so…"

"Your father's company is doing better these days then?" asked Jane.

"It's been recovering for months now, yeah. Dad decided to splash out. If you're thinking 'that's a bit irresponsible', then you're thinking just like Mum does – and you're right to. So, want a lift?"

"Sure!"

"How about you, Daria? We can hang a bit before the date proper."

Being addressed directly made her snap out of her daze. "Okay," she said.

After dropping Jane off, Tom turned to Daria and said: "So, anywhere you want to hang?"

"Um, not really."

"We could try my parent's club. They charge my folks for meals whether they eat them or not, so we might as well get their money's worth."

No. She didn't want to go there. She was worried enough before about Tom meeting her parents for more than five seconds and how they might – how they _would_ respond. Now he had this new car that screamed that he had more money than they'd ever see, and a country club would just be a greater sign of where he came from – and that hadn't mattered before because she rarely saw signs of it, but now here it'd be in her face and that's another place she could never fit in, and it'd be made clear that he was only in Lawndale by chance and this whole relationship was on sand—

"Daria? You okay?"

"Fine. Sure, the club."

* * *

**HIGHLAND, TEXAS.  
DECEMBER 20, 2000**

The video starts in a dark, crowded hall: on stage, a portly man is giving a speech about the good Christian values that Little Angels Elementary School tries to install even when it's not Christmas. Amy's voice cuts across him.

"This is Awesomely Amy, reporting from the depths of school, where Little Angels Elementary is about to start the first grade nativity play! Sources indicate Daria Morgendorffer has been forced to play a sheep. There's other stuff happening too, but we'll be skipping ahead to the important stuff!"

Someone in the audience shushes her. The video skips a bit, and restarts when the stage is full of small children dressed as sheep (girls) and shepherds (boys).

"Are malcontent students going under woolly covers? Kids on the Lamb, now on Sick, Sad World!"

The sheep are moving about on all fours, making "Baa!" noises. You can just about make out Daria, looking grumpy, saying "Humbug". The shepherds mill around, with two specially chosen shepherds singing a song. Two other shepherds are making comments to each other about the song and then laughing, obnoxiously.

Suddenly, an "angel" appears: "Sons of Adam! I bring you good news!"

"The play's over?" calls out one of the shepherds.

"Heh heh heh! Yeah, that'd be really good!"

The lead actors are ignoring this. "An Angel of the Lord!"

The shepherds bow down, except for the two who spoke out of turn. (They're still ignored) The sheep are also bowing, except for Daria who just doesn't seem bothered.

"The Son of God has been born in your land! Go to Bethlehem, shepherds, and bear witness to his coming!"

"Huh huh."

"I hope they're taking us to Bethlehem too, or we're going to die out here," says Daria in a monotone.

"Cool! Then we can, like, have burgers!"

"That's cows, Beavis."

The lead shepherd stands, confused and flapping his arms nervously, as he's clearly forgotten his next line. The angel, equally flustered, blurts out "yes, shepherd, you go to the west! The _west_!"

The boys begin to mill off. As they do, one of the girls asks "yeah, why are we staying here?"

"Yeah, shepherds are jerks!"

Daria stands up, ruining the illusion that she is a sheep, and just starts to walk off stage. After a few seconds, the other girls shrug and do the same thing. A few confused mutters can be heard from the audience, and harsh whispering from a teacher offstage.

The video skips ahead again. Daria is being held on her mother's shoulders, with both Helen and Jake looking proud. The video zooms in on Daria.

"Daria Morgendorffer! How does it feel to be banned from ever being in a school nativity play ever again, and even from watching one?

She smiles. "It's a Christmas miracle."

* * *

Sedimentary Rock Country Club was everything you'd expect. Unfortunately. Everyone was well dressed, everyone was eating elegantly, everyone reeked of money and class, and even though Tom was dressed 'wrong', he walked in like he was meant to be there. Daria felt, looked, was out of place, and it was making her edgy.

There was just something that made her uncomfortable, beyond the fact she was out of place (she was _always_ out of place). Some deep buried instinct was screaming out to stay on her guard, and something else was telling her to feel ashamed.

"Boy, you can really smell the mould on the old money in here, can't you?" said Daria, harsher than she'd intended.

"Better on the money than on the food," said Tom.

"But it'd go so well with all the spit and urine that you know the waiters are adding to it."

Tom looked at her, and slowly pulled a spoon out of his mouth. "You waited until I was swallowing until you said that, didn't you."

"If it makes you feel any better, I just prevented myself from eating."

"Mutually assured destruction!" Tom looked up and winced. "Uh oh."

"Someone admitted that they _didn't _evade tax?"

"Worse."

'Worse' turned out to be a middle-aged couple, dapper and dressed in a rich-but-not-flaunting way (though the man had a horrendously ugly sweater). That didn't seem too bad. At least, it didn't until Tom said:

"Mum, Dad, hey – this is Daria. Daria, Mum and Dad."

Oh crap. Suddenly she wished she had a different jacket on, and then she wanted to zip her jacket up and hide inside it, and _they were looking at her._

"You must be one of Tom's Lawndale classmates," said Mrs Sloane.

"Does it look that obvious?"

That was vicious and petty and right now Daria didn't care. It was lash out or curl up.

"I've been hearing interesting things from Tom about that school," said Mr Sloane, effortlessly ignoring her last remark. "How many are true and how many are him trying to scare the old people?"

"No, really, our History teacher _is_ Metalmouth," said Tom. "Would I lie to you?"

"Sure. Next you'll tell us that 'Killer' punk girl is real too."

"She's my sister," said Daria.

"Oh."

Uncomfortable silence reigned.

"That… must be interesting?" Mrs Sloane sounded worried.

"Sometimes."

More silence.

"Ah Kay, look, the Pearsons are here, we haven't seen them in a while…"

Tom's parents left, but the silence stayed. It stayed for the rest of the meal.

* * *

Erin thrust a present to Helen as if it was a shield.

"This is for you! Merry Christmas! I mean, it will be merry Christ- um…"

"I don't _bite_, Erin," she said, irritated. "Well, only in fights and with Snake –"

"AAAAAH!"

"Sorry." She sighed. "Thank you for the present, Erin. We did get one for you, it's somewhere under the tree if you want it early."

"I'll wait until after we get back from Christmas at Mum's." Erin fidgeted. "Um… We'll give Mum your love?"

"Ha_, bollocks_ you will! You can tell her every time I hear the word twat, I think of _her!_"

"I… I'd rather not say that, if it's okay with you, Aunt Helen."

"Oh, very well, I suppose that's only fair."

Once they were out of the Country Club, Tom said: "There was no call for that."

"For _what?_ She looks at me and assumes I have to be one of the dregs of society-"

"_I go to Lawndale_! Where else would she expect me to be finding new friends from?"

Daria couldn't meet his glare.

"Come on, Daria, don't give me more of the sound of silence."

"I will admit I could have been more tactful."

"Oh yeah, that's some great introspection there."

"All _right!_ I was on edge the whole time we were in there and I kept feeling like I was being judged and I took it out on her and it was wrong, are you _happy_ now?"

He stared at her, stunned, and again she wished she could hide inside her jacket.

"Daria, if you'd said you didn't like it, we could have left. You know that, right?"

"I didn't want to mess up the date."

"Irony!"

"I really needed to hear that, thanks. It really helps the conversation."

He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry. Can we start over?"

"You actually want to keep talking?" she asked, looking at him with pleading eyes.

"I don't want the date to end on a bum note, no, why does that surprise you?"

She didn't reply.

"Oh. Look, Daria, I won't lie and say I was happy with what you did, but I don't hate you or want to cut things off or anything."

"My family's throwing a Christmas party and they said you could come," she said quietly. "Jane too. It's the 24th."

"My family's been invited to a very fancy Christmas party. So, of course, I'd love to go to yours instead."

"Okay."

"You don't sound too thrilled."

"I'm just… Never mind."

Before entering the car, she suddenly grabbed Tom and kissed him. It was badly done, driven by desperation and fear and lacking any care, but it was a kiss. Her first proper kiss with a boy.

He blinked as she drew back. "That was random."

"Um."

"Wanna do it again?"

"Sure."

* * *

On the 23rd, Erin and Brian were leaving the house for Virginia. Daria knew they'd want to spend time with Aunt Rita at Christmas, but found it suspicious they were leaving _before_ the party guests started arriving.

On the way out, Erin handed her a card: "Merry Christmas, Daria!"

Daria opened it to find, well, a card. And book vouchers.

"I couldn't think of anything," said Erin, embarrassed.

"It's fine. Saves me returning any items. I did have a present for you, it's under the tree-"

"I'll open it when I get back. Oh, before I go: Grandma might be calling you. She's interested in how you're getting on."

"Oh."

That was all Daria could think of: 'oh'. Grandma Barksdale hadn't seen or spoken to her in years. Why would she now? Was it because Erin was living her? Or something else?

"Why?" she asked.

"Oh, Daria, you're always such a grumpy gal! Why'd Grandma need a reason to call her granddaughter?"

Erin, of course, _had_ seen and spoken to Grandma Barksdale. Some parts of the family were worthier than others. (Daria had a brief flashback to the country club and wasn't sure why)

"Have a safe journey, Erin."

* * *

**WASHINGTON DC  
JULY 26, 2002**

The tape starts with Amy and Daria looking into the camera (Daria appears to be sitting on a table).

"Merry Christmas from Amy and Daria!" says Amy. "We're speaking to you _from beyond the grave_ – if we die between July and December, anyway – and thought you'd like to see this footage of Kick-Butt Quinn from when you were at London."

"Though if you wanted Pistols in the Park, it'd have been cheaper to go to New York," says Daria.

"And now, without further ado:"

The tape skips back to an early day. There is a studio apartment – it's big, a sign the owner is earning a fair amount of cash, but there are very few personal items and decorations, a sign the owner just sleeps here and stores their stuff. But the main thing we notice is a five year old Quinn in a adorable little Mohawk running around and, occasionally, hitting furniture with a stick.

"Iyama annychist!" she sings as she gives a chair a good whacking. "Iyama _antikast!_"

She throws the stick aside and pushes the chair with all her might until it topples over. She squeals with delight as it hits the floor.

"No future! No future!"

"Having fun?" asks Amy from off-camera, sounding amused.

"Yes!"

"Well, stick to the lounge where I can keep an eye on you."

"Okay, you fascist pig!" says Quinn in a cheery voice, before running off.

The tape skips again. Daria is on a beanbag chair, quietly reading Animal Farm. Loud crashing and bashing noises can be heard. The camera turns to show Quinn is making a serious attempt to murder a futon, giving it a vicious kicking and pummelling. The furniture remains unharmed, and Quinn gives it a dark look before turning to Amy.

"Aunt Amy, can I borrow the scissors please?"

"You remember how to hold them safely?"

"Yes, Aunt Amy."

"Well, go ahead, but if I see you using them dangerously you're _losing_ them, young lady."

The tape skips again. Quinn tears into the futon with the scissors, leaving gouges in the offending item: the footage has been sped up and the Sid Vicious cover of My Way has been dubbed over the top.

The tape skips once more. A man of Amy's age, slightly chubby and wearing spectacles, is in the room and looks appalled. He's facing Quinn, who is looking rebelliously at him.

"I can't **BELIEVE** what you've just done to your aunt's lounge! What in the name of-"

"Ah, let her have her fun," says Amy, sounding neutral. "I never liked that futon anyway."

Quinn cries with joy and runs off camera with the scissors. The man looks at Amy as if seeing her for the first time and not sure what it is he's seeing.

"Quinn _really_ wanted to go to London and see Mr Rotten," says Daria from off camera.

Click.

* * *

The 24th arrived. Every shop was crowded with people who'd realised, oh yeah, they still had to buy presents. Sidewalk Santa's abounded. Daria sat in Café Lawndale and got her Scrooge on.

The door burst open, and a cheery voice sung out: _"__Oh, it's Christmas at Ground Zero/And if the radiation level's OK/I'll go out with you and see all the new/Mutations on New Year's Day!"_

"Hi, Aunt Amy."

Her aunt plunked herself down next to Daria and held up four fingers. "There are five."

Daria sighed. "There. Are. Four. Lights."

"Attagirl! So, any particular reason you wanted to meet early?"

"My boyfriend's coming to the party."

"Ah?"

"His name is Sloane. As in _those_ Sloanes."

"Ah."

Daria said nothing after that. She just stared at her aunt, seeking guidance and assurances. Amy bit her lip.

"Well, I'd tell him to fall over and pretend to be unconscious when hit."

"I would've asked him not to turn up but I was afraid he'd think I didn't want him around. It's… it's not going very well at the moment, Aunt Amy."

"You said he was your best friend after Jane."

"He is, but there's…" She reached for words to describe. "There's some different feelings in there, and I can see new sides to him that I hadn't before. And they're not sides I'm comfortable with. I knew he was wealthy but seeing it so clearly… and there's sides to me and my family that I don't want _him_ to see. And I don't want seeing him."

Amy looked at her, concerned. "Do you ever feel like you're being judged?"

"Kinda, at his parent's club. The whole thing just left on edge. And I'm afraid _he'll_ be judged, at best, and my parent's will be upset I'm dating someone like him, and I haven't the slightest idea of how to get out of this."

"Our family," she said quietly. "It always leaves us fucked up."

Daria had no response to that. Her aunt looked almost as bad as she felt, morose and with the eyes of someone remembering pain. This wasn't a side to Amy she'd seen before. It wasn't one she liked.

"Tell you one thing," said Amy. "Your parents don't like making you upset, and they're proud to have someone as smart and principled as you as their daughter. You need to hang onto that, because it's never a fun time if you think your parents don't care. I can't promise you they won't turn on Tom because there's a reason they're defensive around you and that class."

"Remember how cryptic hints are really annoying if the show is cancelled early?"

"Okay. There's… you don't tell Helen I told you this, all right? Your grandmother was and still is wealthy, you know that. There's extreme bad blood between her and your mother, you know that. And your grandmother was… making you upset. I don't know if you can remember back then."

Something rose from the depths of Daria's mind, memories she had made sure she'd forgotten. An old woman and the feeling of absolute fear on seeing her. A cardboard box. Huddling in fear because her parents were yelling about something.

She remembered, had always remembered, her mother saying "there's nothing wrong with liking to read" all those years ago, but she'd forgotten the yelling. And knowing it was because of something she'd said about…

"Daria?" Amy sounded concerned. "Daria, do you want to keep talking about this?"

She hadn't realised she'd started crying.

"N-No, it's okay. I do remember, enough of it, it's just…" She wiped her eyes and tried to get her voice under control. "Grandma didn't stop visiting us, did she? Mum and Dad stopped her visiting, right?"

"Yeah. If they turn on Tom, it's because they're afraid of the same thing happening again. They both have reason to hate someone in a family who'd make a child feel like that."

"Tom wouldn't do that," Daria said, her voice harsh.

"I know." Amy stood up. "Come on, sprat. We'll swing by Jane's on the way and you can have fun watching her be unable to talk in my presence."

* * *

The party wasn't meant to start for another two hours, but the Morgendorffers and their guests pissed on your confining ideas of "schedules" and "noise pollution". Hulking vans and cars blocked the driveway, and The Clash screamed through the windows. Trent smiled as he left Amy's car.

"Your family's _cool_, Daria."

A Christmas pudding hit a window from the inside, to the sound of cheers.

"On this we shall agree to disagree."

Some of the decorations were already down and chairs had overturned, and someone had spilt beer on themselves. Three couples from Helen and Jake's student days were here, and Axl and his girlfriend from Dega Street, and Quinn had her friend "Burnout" round (who seemed not to notice what was going on around her). At the sight of Trent, Quinn squealed and ran over.

"Hey Trent! I loved your new song, I get everyone to download it – legally, I mean, like duh! Want some beer, Trent? I can get you some! Anything!"

"Uh… yeah, beer's cool," said Trent, as if afraid he might trigger something.

"My brother forgot your sister would be here," said Jane. "He also forgot to change his underwear this week, but what can you do?"

"You see Mr Mackenzie there, the man who thinks a belly that size should be attached to tight leather jeans? In a few hours, he'll vomit, believe me. Do not be there when it happens. It sprays."

"It's just like The Zon then."

"Okay, he's not that bad."

"ONE, TWO – DOWN!" yelled Helen, leading everyone in a mass quaffing of their beer.

'Dingo' Yeager started to cough as his went down the wrong way. The other punks cheered, and he and his wife smiled at his embarrassment, smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes. Amy burped loudly from her beer, and the punks cheered that too. Then Quinn had to try and beat it, and they were all off.

"I'm surprised you did come home for this," said Jane.

"It's Christmas, being with your family and hating it is the tradition."

"So when's Tom turning up?"

"Crap. He said he might turn up early, so he could chat before the party. And since now's technically early, I'd guess right… about…"

Nothing happened.

"But you know what I me-"

"HEY!" roared Mrs Mackenzie, jabbing a steel-claw-tipped hand at the window. "Some rich prick's parking a Jag out there! Fucking insult, that is!"

"Let's go throw things at it!" yelled Jake, smashing a bottle on the table. "No fat cat comes near _Jake the Snake's_ house, no SIR!"

The doorbell rang.

"Huh. I guess they do." He sounded confused. "Honey, do we know anyone who sold out and got invited by mistake?"

Amy and Jane glanced at Daria. She was frozen to the spot, her face blank. Jane glanced at Amy, nodded to the door.

"I'll go check," said Amy, sounding light but making sure to check Jane had a hand on Daria's shoulder before moving. "They see any of you guys, they'll wet themselves on the nice clean porch."

"It's gonna be okay," whispered Jane. "Promise."

"You can't promise that."

"I can and I did."

The door opened and closed. Footsteps came nearer. Daria didn't turn round; instead, she saw the reaction of the party, everyone looking like rabid mongooses with a cobra in their midst. Nobody spoke. In the background, the Clash were singing about cities drowning.

"So this isn't the Goldman Sachs party?" asked Tom, unseen but sounding unbothered. "Damn. I'm going to miss the annual 'Rape the Poor' competition. Can I at least wipe out your savings so this night isn't a total loss?"

"THE HELL YOU CAN!" Jake brandished a bottle, murder in his eyes.

"Snake, he was joking," said Helen, sighing. "Well, you certainly _sound_ like a friend of Daria's, Tom."

"Ewwwww, he's wearing a _shirt_!" said a disgusted Quinn.

"Made with exploited child labour in Afghanistan, no less, and regularly washed in the tears of orphans."

Some people chuckled. Daria allowed herself to turn round, and there was Tom dressed a bit preppy but looking at ease, and Amy was standing behind him and clearly she had forewarned him and oh thank god, nothing bad was happening yet.

"Speaking of, isn't it time to play Pin the Noose on the Senator?" asked Daria, finally able to speak.

"HELL YEAH!"

"I LOVE THAT GAME!"

"WOOOOO!"

The punks left en masse to the game, as did Trent and Amy (Trent looked very intrigued). Jane looked at Daria and Tom, winked, and then left them alone too.

Daria kissed him quickly.

"My joke's weren't _that_ good."

"You've certainly made it through Level One. Got a few more to go though."

"At least I know the princess is in this castle."

"That was lame," she said, smiling.

* * *

Axl had brought Rock Band with him. Tom and Jake had the guitars, Dingo the drums, Amy hogged the mike. God Save The Queen blared out, with Amy trying to match the right lyrics. Jake lasted twenty seconds before losing the game ("DAMN IT!" he yelled as he threw the guitar away) but Tom was hammering away at the keys, hitting most of the beats and even joining in with the song.

"There's no future, no future, no future for YOU!"

When the song finished, he raised his guitar like a sword. Jake slapped him on the back.

"You're all right for a capitalist pig-dog, Tom my man!"

"I try my best, Snake."

"We need to give you a nickname… Hey, Hellion, what's a good name for our man Tom here?"

Helen guzzled another can and wiped her mouth before saying: "How about… _Tomb Sloane!_ Oh, that rocks! You'd totally get the girls creaming their panties with that!"

"Hey, yeah! You could score _easy_!" said Jake happily.

Tom blushed. "I… erm… Okay, you do realise I'm dating your-"

* * *

Daria was in the upstairs bathroom, but even there, above the sound of Black Flag, she could hear her father's scream.

She ran down as fast as she could, her heart thundering: what was down there? Tom unconscious? A screaming match? The disappointed eyes of parents? What?

What she found when she got there was her father had been intercepted by Jane (_I owe you again,_ she thought) and was happily recounting the time he'd meant Banksy and got into a fight with him. Her mother, however, was coming towards her, her face unreadable.

"Daria, could we find somewhere quiet to talk?"

"Here? No."

"Hrrr. Your room, then."

Tom watched Mrs Morgendorffer go, checked Mr Morgendorffer was still occupied, and then turned to Trent.

"You think I'm going to get out of here alive?" he asked the slacker.

"Hmmm. I hope so."

* * *

"How long have you been dating?"

"About a week," muttered Daria.

"And you didn't tell us."

"I wanted to avoid a situation where I'd be having an uncomfortable conversation and Tom would be in danger of being murdered and turned into Christmas dinner. Which is happening now, so you see my motivation."

"Tom…" Helen sighed, clearly trying to pick her words clearly while being partially drunk. "Tom's a nice guy, okay, but that type are different to us, if you… Crap. I can't think of a single damn thing to say that wasn't said to me or your father when we were dating, and none of them ever worked, did it? Just… just come to us if he needs a beating, okay?"

"That's _it_?" Daria asked. "I spent days worrying how you two would react! This isn't a very punk reaction, Quinn's going to be upset with you both."

"You're a bright girl and you're a realist, I assume you know the chances of this relationship working out in the long run and you don't need me to tell you. The only thing I think you need from us is to know we're here if you need us."

"Thanks," she said quietly.

"Come on, I'm going to need help thrashing June Mackenzie's high score on Knights of Cydonia…"

* * *

On Daria's way back, the phone rang. She picked it up, hoping it wasn't the police.

"Morgendorffers residence, we all have alibis."

"Am I speaking to Daria?"

She didn't recognise that voice, but what other old woman would be calling now?

"Hi Grandma."

"Your parents are having a party, aren't they? It sounds like a herd of elephants being slaughtered."

She didn't say anything.

"I hear from Erin that you're the top of almost all your classes. I knew you were intelligent, but I hadn't realised you'd done that well! I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks. Erin said you might call but didn't say why."

"I want to see how my granddaughter is doing. Your parents rarely, if ever, let me see you girls. Did you know that? It's not my choice I haven't been around much."

"I know."

"I… This is a bad time, isn't it? I'll call again at a more convenient time. I'd like to know more about how you're getting on."

"Okay."

"Goodbye, Daria."

She'd sounded sad, desperate. Daria hadn't expected that. That wasn't how she remembered her grandmother or how anyone else seemed to be either. She suddenly wished she'd asked the old lady to keep talking.

Unsure of what had happened, Daria returned to her family and friends.

* * *

"You're a bum, you're a punk!" yelled the women as one, Jane flipping people off.

"You're an old slut on junk!" yelled back the men, Tom with increasing gusto. "Lying there almost dead with a drip in that bed!"

She had family and friends around her, as with every Christmas. And the best present of all was that things seemed like they'd be okay.

"You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot! Happy Christmas your arse, I pray God it's our last!"

* * *

In his lonely shack, Anthony DeMartino drank a lonely bottle on his lonely Christmas. He'd thought about going out to the bars and fleshpots, trawling for some other desperate company, but he wasn't drunk enough to have lost his sense of shame yet.

Another Christmas on his own.

He checked his email, mainly as a distraction. His blog, The Angry Teacher, often got feedback but rarely did he get anything personal. Still, replying to comments would be a distraction.

There was an email to him.

An email with a link to a site called Lawndale Leaks.

_I thought you'd like to know that I started this because of your advice back in November. You planted an idea and I'm learning to use my abilities._

_Merry Christmas,_

_Daria_

He smiled, a genuine smile.

* * *

"The boys of the NYPD choir were singing Galway Bay! _And the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day!_"

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: As mentioned before, this fic has ties to another fic, Brian Taylor's "Moving Pictures" (sadly not on ) which has a young Amy. The video flashbacks are deliberately written in the style of Moving Pictures, and _Freaks, Geeks and Phantasms _was a "show" teenaged Amy made with her camera.

This was originally written before Christmas 2010 - and bugger, because by writing 'in the future' I missed my chance to make some very vicious Wikileaks jokes re Lawndale Leaks. Oh well!


	9. Pop Cult

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 9: Pop Cult**

Tom Sloane was spending his night engaging in philosophical, intellectually advancing pursuits.

"In your _whole head_, zombie scum!"

Okay, no he wasn't.

In the background, where things that didn't involve zombies and shooting them with a Wii remote were going on, he could hear his mother mumble something before calling out: "Tom, that girlfriend of yours… is she reliable?"

"Yeah, she's pretty – _incoming!_ – reliable. Does what she says she will, takes things seriously _eat lead ugmo!_"

"You could trust her with people then, she won't take advantage or have parties or-"

"Pbbt, Daria? Nah, she _grenade!_ is pretty studious. She can definitely be trusted."

"That's good. Could she take over Mrs Lime's daughter's baby-sitting job tomorrow night?"

"Sure, why not? _BOSS FIGHT OH CRAP!_"

It was several minutes before Tom worked out what he'd said.

* * *

"Forget it," growled Daria down the phone. "I don't like kids. I didn't even like kids when _I_ was a kid."

"I tried to talk my mother out of it, but she'd already spoken to Mrs Lime and… She says Brooke, you know, from school? The really needy girl? Well, she's gone into the hospital suddenly and-"

"You are aware I have no conscience, right?" Daria sighed. "Okay, how much is it?"

"Ten dollars an hour, three hours. Family called the Guptys. No idea who or what they are, but Brooke's family are going to owe my mother a big favour, which means we owe you one by default…"

"Ahhh. Secondary bribes. You know me well, Mr Sloane."

"A pizza of your choice afterwards."

"Oh talk _dirty_ to me."

* * *

Jake looked at the bills.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Jake hit the bills with a bottle.

"Let me see those," said Helen.

Helen saw the bills.

Helen hit the bills with a bottle.

"Crap on a fucking crutch! That's worse than Chinese Democracy!" She groaned and whacked herself in the head. "I got too cocky, I shouldn't have bought this place…"

"Awww, c'mon Hellion, we've pulled it off so far, right?"

"Barely. Our income's irregular, we keep coming close to the limits and if you don't get some big bucks in for the next few months there's a good chance we could slip into the red."

"We can find a way. Morgendorffer Consulting and Morgendorffer Legal _always_ find a way! We've got all sorts of contacts and resources, we-"

"And we're still in this situation despite them."

There was silence.

"Daria and Quinn are happy and settled here," said Helen quietly. "I don't think we could find another house in that school area, not a suitable one and not after defaulting. We can't go into the red, Jake."

Jake's face fell.

"_I'll _sell out, Hells," he said soothingly. "It's the man's responsibility…"

"Screw that chauvinist bullshit, we do the sensible, equal thing and we toss a coin."

Helen lost.

"Oh god. Snakey, do you remember where we dumped my suit?"

"We kinda burnt it in the back yard."

"Maybe Erin has a spare…"

* * *

Jane had her phone on speaker, allowing her to talk and paint at the same time. You just couldn't stand in the way of art. She was going to figure out the futurist style if the paint fumes killed her.

"If they start to drive you nuts, tell them you know this great game called Cemetery," she said. "They have to lie on the floor and pretend they're dead. The first one to move or make a sound loses. I did that before on my niece and nephew, they always fell for it."

"I only talked to the Guptys for half a minute and that made me rewatch The Stepford Wives for any warning signs. _Please_ pick me up afterwards. I'll need snark to live."

"Not Tom?"

"I don't know what mood I'll be in afterwards. I don't want a heat-of-the-moment argument. I want an argument prepared in advance so I can win."

"It must be love, looooove love!" sang Jane.

"I know where you live."

* * *

Erin's suit was tight around places that Helen would rather not think about, because it was just too depressing. It was hot. It _itched_. So did her hair, in a shape she wasn't used to anymore, missing the comforting presence of dye and gel. She still had her piercings but they stood alone, islands in a sea of bland.

Before her was the Arch-Bland. Dr Shar, the county's main plastic surgeon. Dr Shar, at risk of having her license taken away for ethics violations. Dr Shar, symbol of conformity and the system.

"And what can you offer me that the Vitale firm can't?"

Helen swallowed back the urge to headbutt that expensive nose.

"First off, Morgendorffer Legal won't gouge you. We don't have overly high overheads; we operate from a small location without the need to pretty ourselves up. You get a top service for a low fee. And I can prove the claim of top services, I have a list here of some of our local customers. All of them were successfully represented."

Shar skimmed the sheet, and politely said: "None of them are… quite the same type of business as mine, hon."

"The law remains the same, doctor. You've seen the degrees I have and the courses taken. That's knowledge and experience that will be easily transferable – sure, a lawyer from Vitale like, oh, Eric Shrecter, he'd have more specific experience but that just makes them less adaptive. If you check my record, you'll find Morgendorffer Legal has used every above-board trick it could find to win.

"Oh, and note that: above-board. You use us, nobody will be making noises about dodgy legal firms and their dodgy clients. You'd clearly be clean."

Shar smiled, an expensive smile. "You're a saleswoman after my own heart."

It had to be done, Helen knew. They were nearing the red. They had children to think of.

She felt like a traitor.

* * *

The Guptys were nice, bland, shiny-smiled people in a nice, bland, shiny house with nice, bland, smiling children. Every horror story Daria had ever seen or watched was screaming that this could only mean one thing.

"Now, Daria, here's your schedule," smiled Mr Gupty smilingly. "As you can see, we've broken everything down into fifteen minute increments. Let's review it together."

She read it. "8:15, discuss non-violent and non-financial current events. 8:30, snack. 8:45, post-snack flossing."

"And the vocabulary word for tonight is "indemnification"."

"We left food for you in the fridge", smiled Mrs Gupty smilingly. "Have fun, kids!"

"Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!" smiled blonde Tad and Tricia blondily.

The Guptys left the house, leaving Daria and the two idyllic cherubs in the very quiet living room.

She looked at the children. They looked back.

"Okay, you can drop the angel act."

Tricia frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Is it time to floss yet?" asked Tad.

Horror had lied to Daria. It was _worse_ than horrible murdering demon-babies.

* * *

Time passed. But not fast enough.

"We're supposed to be discussing current events," said Tricia, an expectant note in her voice.

Daria thought hard for a current event she could get away with bringing up in front of small children.

"Oh darn. I can't think of one. Hey, maybe the TV will give us an idea."

"But too much TV is _bad_ for you," said Tad with religious fervour.

"It makes you into a _zombie_, Daria!"

"That'll make three of us."

She turned it on. She found the Forecast Channel. She changed it to the Forecast Channel. And then, for a change, she found the Forecast Channel.

_Ah. A lock-out. You win this round. _

"Yay!" cried the children in unison. "The five-day report!"

_They have to be taking the piss. They have to be- _

"That means the Midwestern Business Planner is next!" chirruped Tricia angelically.

"See, Tricia, I _told_ you the barometric pressure was falling."

"Know-it-all!"

_Oh god. OH GOD._

"Let's move the snack up to 8.15." She paused and thought of a way to sell this to them. "Then we'll get to the flossing quicker."

"Yayyyy!"

The snacks were raisins in cups.

"Sugar is bad", she was told. And it rots your teeth. And made you hyper.

And, the crowning moment, "_Hitler_ ate sugar".

She wasn't immediately sure how to respond to that. Patiently, her mind searched itself for polite, reasoned responses.

"But Hitler also did other things that we do, like wear underpants."

The children looked at her, confused. Then, Tad looked down at his pants area and began to cry.

_OH GOD._

_

* * *

_

"…I got out of that one by suggesting we play music and now my brain cells are being steadily murdered by a CD about people being full of self-esteem." She held up her phone so Jane could hear the loud singing from the other room. "I need back-up. I need a _gun_. For myself."

"I'm really sorry, but I'd already promised Trent I'd help move his band's crap to McGrundy's for their gig. All I can do is pick-up duty, but I'll make sure to bring really loud CD's about sex and violence."

"See if you can get one of Quinn's CDs. No, see if you can get _Quinn_. I'll need her black, malignant presence to feel clean again."

"Hey, Daria!" called out a happy Tad. "Join in the song! It's fun! _I can hope and I can dream…_"

_I'm inside Mr O'Neill's head,_ Daria thought to herself. _I have somehow entered the astral plane and ended up inside his twisted fantasies. Why couldn't he secretly be an amoral pervert like normal teachers?_

* * *

"Would you like me to fix your hair to be bouncy?" chirped Tricia.

Daria stared down at her. Tricia looked back, the very picture of good behaviour.

"I have a great idea for a fun game," she said, carefully and slowly. "It's called Cemetery."

The game could only last for so long. And with a straight choice between having her hair braided and hearing the CD again, Daria went with the hair. Tad had started to shine her boots for no reason.

"And you do everything grown-ups tell you?" she asked, wanting to test a theory.

"Of course!"

"And you always believe what they tell you?"

"Sure!"

"But what if a grown-up tells you to do something bad?"

"Oh, they'd never do that!" said Tricia happily.

"Adults are your friends, Daria!"

"You can trust them!"

"Except the police."

"Police can be bad, Daria."

"Police too often utilize excessive force in their quest for efficient pacification."

"Dad said that."

"So…" said Daria, as if testing a bad tooth to see if it'd fall out, "what if a grown-up does something a different grown-up has said is bad, is it okay to call the police then?"

Tad and Tricia stared at her appalled, idealistic priests who'd just visited a museum exhibit about the Inquisition.

Tad began to cry again.

"You're _mean_," swore Tricia.

Eventually, Daria decided to work smarter and not harder: she sneaked through the house moving all the clocks forward, and then announced it was time for beddy-byes.

Unfortunately, that meant a bedtime story.

"The Three Little Pigs and the Naughty Wolf Who Became Their Friend. _The Three Little Pigs and the Naughty Wolf Who Became Their Friend._"

"That's my favourite!" squealed a happy Tad.

"Oh ffff-antastic, we'll read that."

_Oh fucking hellfire._

_

* * *

_

When Jane arrived, she had indeed brought Quinn. (The Gupty's were watching cautiously from the door) Daria almost _ran_ out of the house towards them.

"Babysitting was a magical adventure then," said Jane.

"Oh, was that what you were doing?" said Quinn, sounding amused. "Ha ha, you total square, sis! Sucks to be you!"

"QUINN!" said Daria, desperate. "You've got bruising on your face, something horrible and violent must have happened! Please tell me all about it in unflinching, graphic detail."

"Oh well, this total dick spilt Andrea's drink, right? And we had to beat him up for that, except it turned out he had some really big friends, so first thing I did was grab the nearest chair…"

Daria sighed in rapture at the tale.

* * *

She was glad to go to school the next morning, because it gave her the chance to berate Tom for getting her stuck in that position. She'd spent over an hour crafting her argument with love and care.

"…and then I again reiterate the unquestioning idiocy that the kids have been brainwashed into, and how if I wanted to experience that I'd be hanging around the cheerleaders. I may then swear again, I'm not sure."

"I think you should lead with something rude," said Jane. "He turns up and you say 'Oh hi', then yell 'GO TO HELL!'."

"Did you do that one when you were dating?"

"Once. I found out he'd eaten the last cookie when I was in the bathroom."

"A justified reason. You know, I need to get rid of my conscience. The whole reason I did it was because Brooke was in hospital."

"Hey, at least you know you helped out someone who you don't know and who would dismiss you on sight because of your looks." Jane smiled. "I like to show the bright side."

The conversation was ended by two abrupt events: first, Tom running over with a look of horror, protesting "I swear I didn't know what-"; second, Sandi Griffin calling at Daria from a swarm of cliqued-in girls.

"Hello! Average person or whatever! Come take a look at this."

Daria looked at what Sandi was pointing at.

Which was Brooke. A very healthy looking Brooke. A Brooke with a brand new nose, with girls cooing over how cute it was.

"So, like, what do you think?"

"I think I can hope and I can dream, but for some reason you all refuse to burst into flames."

* * *

Tom was getting the silent treatment, and with Daria that was one _hell_ of an intense silence. He'd tried to start conversation and make grovelling apologies before giving up.

Finally, at the end of the day, she cornered him outside class and growled: "I see why Brooke needed such immediate medical attention."

"That's what Mrs Lime had told my mot-"

"The Gupty children are what happen when a Stepford Wife and a Borg love each other very much. They wouldn't stop singing songs about clean moral values. _They associate sugar with Nazism._"

"I... really owe you one?"

"Oh _yes_, Mr Sloane."

"Look on the bright side," said Jane. "You don't need to get revenge on Brooke, because she has to babysit the Guptys' on a regular basis."

"That is a bright side. Thank you, Jane."

* * *

_Do not headbutt the client. Do NOT headbutt the client._

"Are you alright, hon?" asked Dr Shar. "You look very tense, you're going to get wrinkles – though for a deposit, I can sort that-"

"FU- _no,_ no, thank you." Helen took a deep breath. "It's just a matter of... adapting to the casework."

"Oh, it shouldn't be too big a deal," she laughed, "I'm helping kids all the _time!_ And it's all medically necessary: having to look that frumpy would harm anyone, am I right? I'm right!"

_BURN THE BUILDING NO SURVIVORS KILL __**KILL**_

"A more... conventional argument will be needed to get past any enquiries," said Helen, barely calm. "If you think more young girls will want... treatment-"

"After seeing that gal Brooke? Well, duh! Best advertising I can get!"

"...well, then, you'll need a reason that can fit all of them. I found a previous case where a doctor argued that due to the gang violence in the area, he was helping keep girls safe by making their noses less of a target in attacks. Here's a list of recent assaults and reports of assaults over the last few months, focusing on youth areas, that should help..."

"Excellent!" Dr Shar flipped through the list, which had oddly grown by 250% since Quinn had started at Lawndale High. "Whoo-eee! I know about making things tight, and this case looks tight! You're_ good_ at this, Helen!"

"Yes. Yes, I suppose I am."

* * *

Dinner was an odd affair. Daria's father was babbling away about everything and anything - "I saw a _pigeon_ earlier!" – while her mother picked at her food and then downed huge gulps of beer, more than her usual. She wasn't talking, and Jake clearly wanted to pick up the slack to cover for it, which only drew attention to it.

Erin, to her credit, was politely asking him questions to try and help cover ("A feral Rock Pigeon or a naturally-occurring species?"). Brian just looked confused, while Quinn looked as worried as Daria felt.

"So, um, hey Daria," said Quinn, looking to her for help, "You see Brooke earlier today? She'd got a nose job-"

"Can we not talk about plastic surgery please?" said Helen quietly.

She fell silent, and again looked to Daria, pleading.

"Quinn, do you think it'd be possible to set off all the school's fire alarms at once?" asked Daria.

"That'd ROCK!" yelled Jake loudly. "Yeah! How many are there?"

"Oh, about fourteen," said Quinn, "so I'd just need three more people to pull it off! Daria-"

"No. But Tom _does_ owe me a favour-"

"Ewwwww! We can't have a _preppy_ being rebellious!"

"I dunno, ol' Tomb Sloane looks like the heart of a hellraiser beats under the fatcat veneer," said Jake. "I bet he'd like a bit of the ol' vandalism!"

Daria glanced at her mother. She'd said nothing.

"It's not vandalism, it's an impromptu field testing of the school's fire security system and evacuation plans," she said, but she kept an eye on her mother.

* * *

Deducing that something was wrong with her mother was one thing. Actually approaching her about it was something harder. She didn't know what the problem was. She didn't know what she might have to say or do.

She couldn't face having to comfort her mother.

_Hell with it._

She cornered her in the kitchen after dinner: "Um, mum?"

"Yes dear?"

"Is something wrong?" Oh god, that sounded stupid. "Because you didn't even start talking when we were discussing starting an actual fire as a cover."

She turned slightly, so Daria couldn't see her face. "Bad day at work, sweetie."

"Oh. Because, um, if you wanted to -"

"I always taught you family was the most important thing, right? You stand by your family, even if you have to do things you'd rather not do? Because I... I want to be sure of that."

"Uh, yeah." She hadn't expected that. "Yeah, you drummed that one in. That's why I stayed around for Quinn's birthday parties, and believe me, that was something nobody who likes clean clothes wants to do. That and integrity are the two things you and Dad engraved in stone."

"Integrity."

"You always taught us to keep integrity and not 'sell out'," said Daria, as enthusiastically as she was capable of being; her mother, by the sounds of it, needed to hear this. "I try to live by that. Even when I've, to be honest, been embarrassed or confused by you and Dad, I've admired that you still believe in something and live by it. How many of my classmates can say that about their parents?"

"I see," she said faintly. "Did we ever indicate if integrity or family was more important?"

"Well, the impression I always got was that you best stood by your family by keeping your integrity. I certainly hope that's how it works, or I've made a lot of dinner conversations unpleasant and morose for no reason."

"Thank you, Daria."

Things just hung in the air awkwardly after that. With nothing she could say in response, Daria mumbled something even she couldn't decipher and headed upstairs. She was still unclear what the problem was, but she hoped that had helped.

* * *

Hellion came to bed that night and didn't say anything, not even the bitter grousing about her job that she'd done the night before. She just lay there, unmoving.

Jake found she was crying and would not say why.

* * *

The next morning, once his family were out of the house, Jake rescheduled a midday appointment for the afternoon and headed for the garage. It was a vast museum of random junk and belongings they couldn't put anywhere else; it even had a car.

Two boxes in the corner stood alone, nothing stacked on them. That's where he kept his LP collection.

He opened up the boxes with a sigh and took a look at the old, creased cases. He'd bought the CDs of all of them long ago, but the vinyl's had nostalgic value. He remembered listening to them as a teenager, and at other points beyond. Some were more recent, gifts from friends or second-hand wonders he'd found at thrift stores and car-boot sales.

There was Hardcore '81, his First, the album that took a 15-year-old square and blew his brains out of his eardrums. (That had been autographed, years ago) There was Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing that he'd smuggled out of a holiday to England, trying to keep it secret from his dad (his mother looked the other way). There was the Black Flag live album that Anthony Martinez had puked on by accident. There was an album by RIOT 111, an accidental discovery that he'd never realised existed before. In the back, there was a really bad Christian rock LP that his sister had bought him for his birthday, which he'd never had the heart to chuck out.

These all had memories. They were lovingly preserved, mementos of his life.

He closed the boxes again and took them to his car.

* * *

Daria had deduced that Ms Barch had heard about Brooke. Her first clue to this was when Barch announced that instead of the original lesson, they'd be learning about plastic surgery and how it worked.

With a video.

_"Gaze into the face of society's beauty standards!"_

Pale faces were all around. Soon, they became green faces.

"Mack Daddy?" whispered Kevin. "If that flesh has come from the butt, does that mean, like, the lips now have butt germs?"

"Uhhhhhhhh..." moaned Mack, trying not to think about burgers.

"What are those bag thingies for EEEEEEEEEEE!" said Brittany in horror.

Upchuck just whimpered once, like a scolded kitten.

"So," said Daria, "if it's really hot in the surgery, do you think the plastic will start to melt as it goes in? That'd be quite an interesting look. It could start a trend."

"Well I know what_ I'm_ drawing next," said Jane, taking notes.

"I'd assume then if you prick the part with the melted plastic, it'll start to ooze out and cause that area to deflate-"

Kevin vomited, noisily.

"Keep going, Daria, you're on a roll," said Jane.

Barch smiled to herself. Educating children was fun.

* * *

Vinyl Suit had been struggling until Morgendorffer Consulting had spruced up its image. There were other specialty stores that Jake could go to, but Trang was someone he could trust.

The aging man in an equally aging leather jacket went through the albums with great care, checking them against lists and sales figures. At some, he breathed in sharply. When he heard it was _Anthony Martinez's vomit_, he whistled.

In the end, he left four to the side.

"I can give you three hundred and fifty for the rest," he said. "These four, I won't take. They could sell for a lot if you find the right buyer, you should stick them on Ebay or something."

"Thanks, man!" Jake looked at the Christian rock LP and shook his head. "I'd have never guessed."

"Oh yeah, that – man, I thought the Sons Of Satan's early choirboy days were just a _myth_! You've got a real treasure there, dude. And such condition! Looks like it's only been played twice."

"Once."

"Not that I'm complaining, Snake, but if I had some of these, they wouldn't be getting sold until I was _dead_. Is something wrong?"

"I hope not for much longer."

* * *

Every girl who could was scrambling to get their improvements off Dr Shar, but the Fashion Club, as always, were three steps ahead. Their new noses were _in_. They strutted down the hallways with the bandages as marks of honour, with Sandi smiling away in victory.

And victory it was, for Elsie _hadn't_ been able to get it; her parents had put their foot down. Ha ha. She wouldn't be challenging Sandi's position any time soon now she had last season's shnozz.

Up ahead, the Three J's were leaving their science class. Sandi smirked. Jeffy, Joey, and The Other One were always easy marks, time for them get _dazzled_.

"Well, like, _hi_ guys," she said. "What do you think of the new us?"

The Other One looked at her, turned green, and went "oh god _BAAAUUUUWWWWWKKKK_"

"_These were new and suede damn it!_"

* * *

The girls bathroom was alive with the sound of puking.

"And it's not even lunch yet," said Daria.

Jane frowned. "Wonder who it is?"

Daria prodded the toilet door open to reveal Brooke, bent over and offering sacrifices.

"Brooke? Ah. Did you just have Science-"

"_Yes._"

"Look on the bright side. No other girl will want surgery now. You're going to be the only one with freakish augmentations."

"Oh. Hey yeah!" Brooke grinned. "Thanks, um..."

"Daria."

"Darla!" The girl stood up, happy. "I feel better now! I feel... I feel... my nose feels really _weird_-"

And then, before Daria and Jane's eyes, the most disgusting thing they'd seen since Sick, Sad World's coverage of the Pee Olympics took place.

"Brooke, unless you want to pay tribute to Edvard Munch, I'd avoid the mirror," muttered a pale Jane.

* * *

Jamie was embarrassed enough from barfing on one of the Queen Bees of Lawndale, but then everyone else from the class saw the Club and his vomit and that got _them_ going too. A _chain reaction_ had happened. Li's voice had screamed out of the intercoms, telling everyone the corridor was now off limits, but it was too late by then.

He was never going to live this one down.

"Hey, Jaleel?"

He turned round to see Quinn staring at him.

"I'm Jamie," he whispered, blushing further.

"That puke thing you did, that was damn hardcore! Maybe you're not such a pussy after all! Fight the Man!"

And suddenly the world was a wonderful place.

* * *

"I didn't even know there _was_ such a thing as a nasal relapse, but now I don't think I'll ever forget." Jane was smiling as she said that. "Oh man, so many ideas for paintings today!"

"Poor Brooke," said Tom.

"Poor you," said Daria. "Because now she can't do babysitting-"

"Don't finish that sentence, I think I just worked out how you want me to pay you back."

"Shared experiences bring couples closer together."

When Daria left, Tom turned to Jane and said "I'll give you forty bucks if you do it instead."

"Deal."

* * *

Dr Shar had called her in, and that was worrying. That meant she was going to have to take up a court case related to a medical cock-up, take action to keep Shar in business and the patient from getting compensation.

But this was the world, as people had told her time and again: you sucked up and compromised to get by. For stability. For the sake of family.

"What's the problem?" she asked, calm and collected.

"Oh, there's been a bit of a problem with the Lime girl," she said, sounding a lot less flustered than Helen had expected. "There was a teensy nasal relapse, and Mrs Lime is talking about legal action – after all I've done! Ungrateful, right? Anyway, I need a defence and fast."

"What is she threatening to sue you for?"

"Oh, malpractice, shoddy work, not telling her-"

"You didn't tell her there was a risk?"

"I didn't want to bother them with what ifs, it might've given them jitters," said Shar. "We can just say I did tell them, right?"

"In this case, I'd advise a settlement-"

"Hell no, the last thing I need is this being fodder for another ethics violation case! They're real hardasses when it comes to cutting corners to get things done quicker, and children always get the most-"

Dr Shar was unconscious before Helen realised she'd headbutted the woman.

"Oh _shit._"

Thinking quickly, she position Shar's head on her desk and put on a mask of concern. When the doctor came to:

"Are you alright? One minute you were talking and the next you'd fainted and hit your head! Have you not been drinking enough water?"

"I... I guess not..." she whispered, looking confused. "I think I better cancel my appointments and just have a quiet sit-down..."

"Yes, that'd be best: cancel all those difficult appointments."

"So, the case-"

_Hell with it._ "I'm afraid I can't do that, Doctor."

* * *

"Oh no!" said Erin into the phone, worried. "I can't hear you, Danny! I'll have to stop the call!"

"No, Erin!" came the upset man at the other end. "Come back! _I love you!_"

"And that, sir, is the peril of losing cell signals! But with the Landon Scandon, any signal from any network can be used to augment your own – for a reasonable sum, you and all your workers will keep connected!"

"I'll buy them, anything!"

Once the sale was closed, Erin checked her email and found a summons from Mr Landon: he wanted to see her after work. Another sales outing?

That last one at the mall had been... interesting.

She shivered involuntarily.

* * *

When Jake found Helen, her suit lay crumpled on the bedroom floor and her hair was an angry blood-red, set in spikes. And her face looked beaten.

"I f***ed it up," she said.

"Violence?"

"I'd gotten away with it but then I just... She was openly admitting to hack work and immoral acts involving minors, Snake, I couldn't keep working for her after that! And oh yeah, I've passed on everything I know to the regulators, because why should I be the only one suffering because of my conscience? Let's see Schrecter and his ****s get her out of that one."

"You did the right thing, Hellion."

"Did I? We needed that regular income. You think I can find a regular client that will pay that sort of money, and regularly, and who _won't_ offend my principles? Am I supposed to put that over our daughters?"

"Well, you won't need to worry about it for the next three months after all, because ol' Snakey just sorted it!" said Jake, his mood swinging into happiness. "That stretch is all paved over! All problems under the carpet for a bit longer, no need for you to keep selling out, yes sir and no sir!"

"_You_ didn't sell out, did you?"

"Oh no, I just sold my LPs. You should see some of the bids on Ebay, I even got the lead drummer of Sons Of Satan offering me big bucks to take an entry down!"

Helen stared at him, aghast. "You sold the Museum?"

"Hey, I had everything on CD anyway, right? Money for old junk, really!"

She hugged him, tightly.

* * *

Jane looked at the Gupty children. They looked at her.

A clock ticked like the chimes of doom.

"Is it time to floss yet?"

"I got a better idea," said Jane. "How good are you two at painting?"

* * *

Dinner was odd, because Erin and Brian looked _ecstatic_. And they _never_ looked that genuinely happy about a family meal.

"You'll never guess what happened!" said Erin, her voice a high squeak.

"You got promoted," said Daria.

"_I got pro-_ how'd you guess?"

"It was either that, Brian had taken his real estate exam, or you no longer have to live here. And it can't be the latter, because you _are_ here."

"Mr Landon said I'm breaking all kinds of company records and I'm the equivalent of three other Sales girls! I'm going to be leading teams! I've got a _pay rise!_"

"That's great!" cheered Jake. "Way to get paid!"

"Speaking of, I'll need to up my rent payments, right? Now I can afford it and all, fair's fair."

Helen and Jake glanced at each other.

"That's... that's much appreciated, Erin. Thank you."

"No problem."

* * *

"Wow! No babysitter ever told us before that we can express ourselves! You're the best _ever!_"

"Hey Jane, look, look, this one's our principal! He's on fire!"

"Do you have any spraypaint, Jane?"

THE END


	10. Hell is Other Parents

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 10: Hell Is Other Parents**

"Stand by," said Daria. "T minus five, four, three, two… ONE."

She turned the radio on and Strauss' The Blue Danube began to trickle out. Jane opened the bedroom door and, a few seconds later, saw Quinn run out her room, hands over her ears.

"_EWWWWWW!_ Muh-_oooooom_, Daria's doing it again!"

"Okay," said Jane, "you win. I owe you five bucks."

"She does have some cultural tendencies. Every time I play Ode To Joy, there Quinn is, merrily headbanging along."

"What happens if you play Justin Bieber?"

"Then I kill myself and my family desecrates my corpse."

"Harsh but fair."

As if summoned by his name, the warblings of the pube-less pop crooner began to emit from downstairs.

"Erin, on the other hand, has special dispensation. She can't help being raised by Aunt Rita." Daria turned her radio up, trying to drown the song out.

"What would happen if your cousin's Bieber CD was replaced with Black Flag but she didn't realise?"

"That's a good question, Jane. I think I've got a new experiment to get on with…"

* * *

As the twin forces of classical and pop duked it out, Jake screamed in anger and shoved his head under the paper. With an enraged snarl, Helen shoved a Ramones CD into the kitchen hi-fi and cranked up I Wanna Be Sedated to ear-bleeding levels.

"_That's_ better!"

"Daria just won't stop playing square songs, Mum!" wailed Quinn. "She just _won't stop!_ I started to _hum_ one of them yesterday!"

"I'll have a word with your sister – oh hang on, this is the good bit:"

"BAM BAM BA-BAM! BAM BAM BA-BAM!" yelled the three punks.

"Where was I? Oh yes, I'll talk to Daria about…" Helen frowned. "Jake, can you hear the phone?"

"I can," he said. "Damn! Don't worry, I'll turn the music up."

"Hold on, it might be important – but if it's Rita asking about Erin, put Sid Vicious on and crank to 11."

Helen picked up the phone just before its final ring: "Hello, Morgendorffers?"

"Ah, hello," said a cultured voice. "This is Angier Sloane, Tom's father?"

"_When I see the price you pay, I don't wanna grow up! I don't ever wanna be that way, I don't wanna grow up!_"

"…I'm sorry?"

"Sorry, favourite song. So, you're the… financial businessman," she said, in a tone similar to "so you murder babies".

"Yes, well, our Tom's been seeing a lot of your Daria-"

"She's not _good enough_ for your decomposing old money, that it?"

"I, erm… have I called at a bad time?"

"Honey, can I skip to Poison Heart?" called out Jake.

"No, Snakey, skip to _KKK Stole My Baby Away_."

"I can call back later-"

"Oh no, _Mister_ Sloane, let's hear what you have to goddamn say!"

There was an audible gulp. "Well… erm… since Tom and Daria have been going out for some weeks now, we thought it would be a good idea to get together with you and your husband, erm…"

"Oh!" Helen blinked. "Hang on – SNAKE! The Sloane super-fatcats want to meet us!"

"I'm free Friday!"

"How's Friday, Angier?"

"Th-that should be okay."

* * *

Two minutes after Daria learnt about this, her mobile phone rang. It was Tom.

"Daria! We've got an emergency, my parents want to meet your parents – you have to stop them hearing the phone-"

"Too late."

"Shit."

"It _will_ be as bad as you think."

"When you both die of shame, can I have your stuff?" asked Jane.

* * *

On the way to school, Jane insisted on humming the Jaws theme.

"I _wish_ I was going to be eaten by a shark on Friday. I might die and get out of this dump."

"They picked a date and it's Friday? Oh." Jane sounded sad. "Sorry to hear that. You'll miss the school's roller-hockey match with Z93's classic-rock DJs."

"Everyone will miss that."

"Oh, right, you weren't _here_ last year. You don't _know_."

At the school's security check-point, Jane called out to the head guard: "Hey, Steve, what've you got in the pot?"

"Twenty bucks that he collapses during the half-time break. The rage will overwhelm him." Then he shoved an adorable puppy at her bag. It gave an adorable little bark. "Okay, you're clear."

Daria stared, aghast. "When I was told Li was getting bomb-sniffer dogs, I thought they were joking. Did it shrink in the wash?"

"Cheapest bid." He shoved the puppy at her. It slobbered on her jacket. "Okay, you're clear."

"And suddenly, I'm in favour of neutering."

* * *

Jodie was selling the tickets for the hockey game and, to Daria's surprise, was _actually approaching her and Jane with a smile_.

"I know _you_ two will want these."

"What's your bid?" asked Jane.

"Last few minutes and then major attack. Fifteen bucks. Mohammed's running the pool."

"All right," said Daria. "You've got me interested in something school-related. Spill."

"Last year, when fighting for the puck with Rock-and-Roll Randy, Mr DeMartino had a serious heart attack. He almost died twice." Jodie grinned. "And he's been practicing _all year_ to get his revenge, and that's a whole year of added stress and age..."

"So this is all a sick obsession with whether or not a teacher will survive a pointless game, akin to watching a car race in the hope of seeing a gore-ridden crash?" Daria sighed. "I really wish I could buy a ticket but I'm busy that Friday. I'm going to Room 101."

"Her parents are meeting the Sloanes," explained Jane. "At the country club, no less."

Jodie's mouth hung open. "I... her parents at—_But that's just not_—" She backed away from the girls, reaching for her phone in the process. "Oh god, my parents are going there on Friday, _I have to warn them!_"

"Ah," said Daria, "now there's the Jodie we all know and tolerate."

"You can still put a bet down," said Jane. "I'm going for a collapse in the first ten minutes."

"Hmm. Is Trent going to be awake on Friday?"

"No one can answer that but God, Daria."

"Because I'm not going to suffer public humiliation, not when I can be watching someone _else's_ humiliation. _You_ are going to help me and Tom _bust out._"

* * *

"...97, 98, 99, **100!**"

DeMartino removed himself from the gym's single weights machine (Li had wanted a new set of locks) and allowed himself a celebratory wad of nicotine gum. And, when that didn't work, two more wads at the same time.

"Urrr MNN, 'Rk-n-LLL' RnDMM!"

Over in the corner, Barch had set up several male Resusci-Andy dummies and was practicing on them. Specifically, she was hitting them over and over in various places with a hockey stick. DeMartino was trying not to notice that too much.

"No school board or government regulation or 'rights of the child' protecting THESE men! Hahahahaha, _NOTHING CAN STOP ME ON FRIDAY!_"

In her dark lair, surrounded by the glow of CCTV monitors, Angela Li watched her teachers practicing and rubbed her hands together with glee. Laaawndale High would win _this_ year at last, oh yes indeed...

* * *

"Are you..." Angier paused, trying to work out what to say. "Are you sure we should be meeting the Morgendorffers this early? It's only been a few months, and we may be assuming the relationship is stronger than it really is-"

"He dated that Jane for six months," said his wife, Kay, "and that seemed pretty serious, and we _never_ managed to meet her parents, they were always busy or on some foreign jaunt. I was never happy about that, Angier, we should know more about the girls our son is involved in."

"True, true, but... Well, maybe not at the club, maybe we should do it somewhere... I don't know, are there any other clubs in Lawndale? Seriously, I don't think there are any except the Lodge, but surely everyone else in the town goes _somewhere_ in the evening..."

"Well, there you go! Besides, the club does brilliant food, they'll love it there." Kay frowned. "You do seem pretty nervous about the meeting. Is there something wrong?"

"I don't know, Kay, I just don't know. Something feels..." He trailed off. "I'm sure you're right. I'm sure it'll be fine."

* * *

"DAMN IT!" roared Jake, punching his wardrobe. "I can't find my Fuck All Bankers T-shirt! Wall Street Are Bastards just isn't aggressive enough, damn it!"

"I'll check in Quinn's room, she might have borrowed it – Snakey, should we do something with our hair? I mean, it's not every day we get to go mess with a country club and anything elaborate will take prep work..."

"How about Mohawks, but... but _I_ have pink hair and you have _blue_! Fuck up their gender-defined world something fierce! YEAH!"

Helen grinned. "What would I do without you? Come here, you!"

Downstairs, as the 'sounds' come down, Erin and Brian sighed and put their earplugs in.

* * *

Friday morning came. Daria finally sought out Mohammed, who was clearly enjoying his role as bookie and was wearing a trenchcoat and shades inside.

"How many times have security searched you?"

"Four times a day," he said nonchalantly. "Gotta let you know, Mr D was spotted jogging earlier today – we're up to 2 to 1 odds on a first-quarter heart attack, and 2 to 1 that he dies."

"Who did your maths again? Never mind: I'll put ten bucks down on Rock and Roll Randy giving him a knee injury deliberately, and in the first quarter."

"Seven to one odds!" He pocketed. "Shoulda guessed you'd be watching the game."

"Oh I'll _be_ there."

* * *

Tom looked in the mirror, and at his suit, in horror. "Oh god I'm an undertaker."

"You look very nice, honey," said his mother, ruffling his hair.

"Really, Daria's parents will be perfectly happy if I'm dressed how I normally—"

"There's no harm in looking smart, Tom. I'm sure they'll appreciate the effort."

* * *

"Oh come on Daria, at least wear a _leather_ skirt," said Helen, disappointed.

"Mum, we've been over this: I know you had the spraypaint done specially for my birthday, but I'm not wearing the skirt with 'What You Looking At Bitch?' written on the ass."

"It's not easy to keep that much writing legible, young lady!" She sighed. "Fine, fine, show up and embarrass your parents in public…"

Helen, it should be noted, had a giant blue Mohawk, a leather jacket with only a leather bra (torn) and tattoos on underneath, steel-soled knee-high boots with dried blood on, and "LOVE" and "HATE" written on her knuckles.

"So why didn't you decide to just turn up wearing nothing but a painted-on anarchism symbol?"

Helen blinked. "Damn it, that's a great idea – remind me about that next time I have to visit the bank!"

Daria stopped talking after that.

Jake soon entered, with his pink shock of hair, his beer-stained badge ridden jacket, Fuck All Bankers shirt (Quinn had both borrowed and puked on it), his own knee-high boots over ripped denim jeans, and knuckle writing "NOFU" and "TURE".

"I'm ready to – awwww, Daria, not even wearing a leather skirt?"

"I'm wearing it in spirit, in my mind where The Man can never oppress me."

"Oh, cool!"

On their way out, Helen handed Quinn some money and a sheet of paper: "Now I promised Erin she could have the house to herself, so here's thirty bucks and the current location and licence plate of Eric Schrecter's new car."

"Fuck yeah! Thanks, Mum!"

Daria noticed that Erin was casually inching towards the radio, a Bieber CD in her hands – the one Daria had replaced with Black Flag's. "Mum, Dad, you go ahead and start the car – I just want to check on something…"

Two seconds after her parents had left, Erin put the CD on. Four seconds after, the opening guitar snarl of Rise Above came out; Erin clasped her hands over ears and began to scream, with a look of pure, primal terror. (Daria noted this down)

"Oh, sorry Erin!" She stopped the radio. "I must've got our CD's mixed up."

"Oh. Oh. Okay," gibbered Erin. "For—for a minute there, I thought this house had infected the CD. Or my head."

"No, it just-" Daria broke off as the phone rang. "Hang on."

"That's silly though, punk's just a type of music, it can't alter reality, ahahahahahaha-"

Daria picked up the phone. "Morgendorffers: we all have alibis."

"Ah, Daria. I was hoping it'd be you."

She swallowed. "Hi, Gran. Erm, I can't really talk – I've kinda got a thing."

"Oh." The woman sounded disappointed. "Well, maybe another time. Where are you going?"

"My parents are meeting my boyfriend's parents. Tom Sloane. Yeah, as in _those_ Sloanes."

"_Those_ Sloanes? Good Lord! I had no idea – congratulations, young lady! That's a serious catch. How did you manage – wait, _your parents_ are going to… Oh. Oh Lord. Daria, I'm so sorry."

She gave a short laugh. "That's kinda how me and Tom have been feeling."

"Tom and I."

"Yeah, you too of course."

"What? (Oh, wait, I just got it.) Please tell me your mother is at least dressing like a civilised human being."

"Well, she's _dressing_ at least."

"God's sake," muttered Grandma Barksdale. "Always the same with Helen… I'm sorry you have to put up with that Daria, it's disgraceful."

"I, erm, I really do need to…"

"Oh right. Of course."

"Um, talk to you… talk to you soon, Gran."

She hung up, trying not to think too much about what her grandmother had said. She'd said just what _she'd_ been thinking for the last few days – and before, many a time. There was a feeling, however, deep within, that she should be standing up for her mother against someone who said that. Especially when that someone was a woman who, Daria knew, had messed up her mother and her aunt, and when she'd known her—

Except she was saying what Daria thought, and the old woman over the phone seemed miles away from the unholy terror that had left her upset and scared as a child.

This wasn't something she could think about too much now.

On her way out of the house, she was dimly aware of Erin still talking: "…sometimes I have nightmares that I've _become_ a punk…"

* * *

The Sedimentary Rock Country Club security guard looked up at the Morgendorffers.

"You're joking, right?"

"I got Pig-Dog Sloane to mail us a statement, _with his signature_, stating that we're his guests here," said Helen, holding up the statement with triumph.

"B-B-But y-you're-"

"_Signature._"

The guard started to cry.

"That means we can go in, right?" asked Jake.

Sighing, Daria sent Jane the text message: 'Have entered. Get here ASAP.' Now if she could just last the next fifteen minutes…

* * *

The Sloanes were sat at their usual table when they heard the commotion.

"That's odd," said Kay, frowning. "Did someone just… _scream?_"

"Oh _darn_ it all, turns out I need to go the toilet really bad," said Tom, pushing his chair back so he could get up. "I might be a while, maybe, oh, an hour, but-"

"OH GOD." Angier stared across the room in horror, as the rich parted like the Red Sea to escape the filthy. "OH GOD."

"Is this a robbery? A raid? Oh dear lord, Angier, they're coming this way—"

Tom buried his head in his hands. "So, yeah, Mum, Dad… this is Daria's mum and dad."

"This is no time for jokes, Thomas!"

"Daria's with them," whispered Angier. "He's not joking. _Dear God above, he's not joking_."

"W-Well, he did s-say they came from Texas originally…"

The dread figures drew up next to the Sloane's table. Helen stared down at them and menacingly picked her nose before wiping it on the very expensive tablecloth. Angier moved in his chair slightly so he was between them and Kay. Every eye in the room stared, until Jake looked back and then everyone scattered.

"Hey Tomb Sloane!" said Jake cheerily. "Sorry to see you trapped in that corporate penguin suit, m'man!"

"I can use the tie to hang myself, so it's not all bad," said Tom.

"Right on!"

"Hi Mr Sloane, Mrs Sloane," muttered Daria, looking down. "These are my parents. Mum's a lawyer."

"Public lawyer?" asked Angier, in a voice that sounded like he was on the verge of understanding something.

"I've defended a few people that the pigs have seen fit to step on," she growled.

"And I work in Consulting!" said Jake. "Hey, want to spruce up your company's image? I can make sure nobody thinks 'insider trading' and 'home stealers' when they think of Grace, Sloane and Page!"

"N-Now, we were cleared of the insider trading charge two years ago—"

Helen belched, and Kay jumped back into her seat like she'd been shot.

"So!" Tom clapped his hands together, grinning like a loon. "Who wants drinks, eh?"

"Cyanide, please," said Daria.

_Jane, for the love of god, hurry._

_

* * *

_

Jane had been running half her life. She was good at it. She was fast. She was able to reach the basement _just_ before Trent and Mystic Spiral started playing.

"AW DAMN IT!" snarled the drummer as the door banged open. "Now I lost my groove! I gotta start my chant all over again!"

"Please don't, Max," said one of the guitarists, Nicky. "_Please._"

"Up yours, Nick! Ahem… **COME, THEY TOLD HIM, PARAPA-PUMPUM!**"

Trent sighed. "Hey, Janey. Did I forget to close the fridge again?"

"Yeah, but this is something else. I need you to drive to the country club out of town and get Daria, it's super-important-"

"…**NEWBORN KING TO SEE, PARAPA-PUMPUM!**"

"Um, well, we kinda got a gig." He pointed at the webcams littered around the place. "Pay-per-view live webcast, starting… uh, a minute ago now, but it's pretty important. Sorry."

"Daria's parents are meeting Tom's parents."

"_Whoa._" Trent placed his guitar down, gently. "Sorry guys, emergency."

"But we gotta gig!" protested Nicky.

"Hey, people come to see the _sounds_, man. You can manage without me."

The largest guitarist, Jesse, blinked. "Um. Where's the audience again? I forgot."

"…come on, Janey."

"**SO TO HONOUR HIM, PARAPA-PUMPUM! WHEN WE COME!**"

* * *

By mutual consent, Daria and Tom sat between their parents as a demilitarised zone. A state of hostile staring had commenced.

"…what's 'Ture'?" asked Angier slowly, looking at Jake's fist.

"That's NO FUTURE, capitalist! A LAMENT for all the kids whose lives have been WRECKED by the actions of YOU and oh hey, here come the drinks!"

The waitress almost _flung_ the drinks at the table in her hurry to escape.

"We may never come here again," muttered Kay, anger in her voice.

"My heart bleeds," said Helen.

Daria fidgeted. "So, erm, Mr Sloane… How's business?"

"Er, f-fine Daria, going real fine-"

"Raping the nation must pay _real_ well," said Helen, teeth bared.

"Last week, it was WalMart that were raping the country," said Daria.

"Don't forget those lousy gas companies," growled Jake. "I'm not made of money DAMN IT!"

"Well who doesn't hate gas companies!" said Angier. "Always ripping people off-"

"Oh, the poor-little-rich-man routine huh? HUH?"

"So where's Quinn?" asked Tom politely.

"Oh, the little scamp's off destroying some prick's car," said Helen.

Kay paled. "You… you let your daughter destroy people's property? You _encourage it?_"

"DARIA NEVER DESTROYED ANYTHING AND YOU CAN'T oh, Quinn, sorry, I wasn't paying attention." Jake turned back to his drink. "Why aren't there any rocks in this damn Scotch, anyway?"

"Are you telling me how to raise my children, bitch?" whispered Helen, rising up.

"You raise them to be destructive monsters, then _damn right._"

"Oh yes, poor Eric Schrecter, how dare the man who supports monstrous bastards—"

"Oh, wait, Schrecter's car?" Kay breathed out. "That's fair enough."

"That guy always has to boast when he's in here and he never tips the waiters, and I tell you-" Angier jabbed a finger at the punks to emphasise his point. "One time I played golf with him for networking reasons, he tried the spare-ball-up-the-pocket, 'oh look how far I shot' trick! That's just tacky."

"Hate is such a unifying force," said Tom.

"Damn right!" cheered Jake.

"Um… would you mind reducing the profanity?" asked Kay.

"YES," said both punks.

Daria sighed. _Jane, if you do not call in FIVE SECONDS -_

Daria's phone rang.

_Thank you, Satan. I owe you one._

"Hello, this is Daria, coming to you live from Hell."

"Help!" said Jane, in a torrent of bad acting. "Someone from the town hall is coming to bust us for noise pollution! I need help erecting barricades at the front door!"

"I hear you, Jane! I'm at Sedimentary Rock, send Trent asap!" She hung up and turned to her parents. "You heard that?"

"Too right!" spat Helen. "Go give those bully-boys _hell_, Daria!"

"Will do. Tom, want to help?"

"YES."

"Um…" Angier bit his lip. "While it's admirable for you to help a friend in need, Tom, I don't think you should be-"

"Oh no, let's not take risks, we only need to do bend the law when we can PROFIT! Gah damn it I bet you'll send him _to military school!_ OR DID YOU ALREADY?"

Daria grabbed Tom's arm and dragged him out of the club with her. "Don't look back. There's nothing we can do. We need to regroup and hope for medical treatment."

"I sometimes wondered where Quinn came from. I never will again."

"It's disgraceful we have to put up with it."

Tom glanced at her. "Daria? You okay?"

"…I will be. Let's get to the school."

The two of them exited the building just as Trent pulled up (the guard looked at Trent's car and started crying again). Trent alerted the kids by, somehow, doing the opening chord to Come As You Are on the car horn.

Daria opened the door, pushed Tom in, and then flung herself in. "Get us out of here, Trent! Only the promise of a teacher dying can save us now!"

"Hey, I didn't like O'Neill either, but that's going too _far_, Daria…"

* * *

The school gym was packed: every student was there, watching the hockey game with hungry eyes and slathering mouths. Daria, Jane and Tom would've been unable to sit together, except Daria had cunningly placed signs saying "Unpopular Seats" on three seats: the football team and their dates were split asunder by it.

"Of course, now we're confirming we're unpopular," said Jane.

"That boat has sailed, Jane."

"People hate me for my looks," said Tom.

"You don't dress _that_ badly."

"You win this round, Daria."

Over on the football player's side, Kevin pointed at Daria's crew and went "AHA!". He then turned to Mack: "Ha, and you said there were no such _thing_ as Unpopular Seats! In your _face_, Mack-Daddy!"

"I believed you and almost sat in one!" said Joey reproachfully.

Mack opened his mouth, closed it, then turned to his girlfriend Angie. "Please tell me you know what's happened here. I'm not the only one, right?"

"I dunno, Kevin's kinda got a point."

"…oh look, violence!"

Down on the rink, DeMartino and the corpulent DJ Rock-and-Roll Randy circled each other over the puck, sweat and scowls on their faces like warring apes.

"Come ON…" hissed DeMartino, swiping at the puck. "Take your PUNISHMENT… like a MAN!"

"I'm not the Man, dude! I'm a _rocker!_"

The teacher sneered, then swiped the puck. "HA HA! Where's your classic rock NOW?" He rapidly accelerated. "_There's many try to prove they're FASTER! But THEY didn't last and DIED as they tried! HELL BENT FOR LEATHER, HELL-_"

Randy whacked DeMartino in the leg.

"AAAARGGG!"

"_Every day, it's a' getting faster_, bitch!" crowed Randy, stealing the puck.

DeMartino stayed down, clutching his knee – in the audience, Andrea stood up and screamed "YES!" – before standing up again, roaring in pain. ("Damn it," muttered Andrea)

"Drat," said Daria. "There goes my bet, unless attempted knee injuries count."

"Cheer up," said Jane, "Randy might for the same target again. Or it might be a _delayed_ fracture."

Over to their side, next to his nerdy girlfriend Stacy, Jeffy scratched his head. "Was DeMartino… singing or screaming? I'm not sure."

"That was a Judas Priest song, they're a famous and iconic heavy metal band known for _telling it like it and rocking the ***** _" Stacy stopped in mid-sentence. "Um, um, sorry Sand- er… It's a heavy metal song. I heard it a few times."

_Remember which persona you're in, Stacy. You can't afford another slip-up like that._

"I thought Judas was a disciple. Huh, the more you know!"

* * *

Half of the country club lay empty, apart from the Sloanes and the Morgendorffers. They made enough noise to fill it up, however.

"I don't see why _I_ should feel guilty because _you_ refused to _grow up_—"

"—act all down-with-the-serfs but you still live in lah-de-dah ***** Crewe Neck—"

"—surprised your daughters know how to _talk_ the way you've been—

"WHY CAN'T YOU UPPER CLASS JERKS JUST CALL IT 'SCOTCH WITH ICE' _STOP TRYING TO CONFUSE ME!_"

"We made a mistake letting you in-"

"—made a mistake coming to this pukefest—"

"—half a mind to forbid Tom from—"

"RIGHT THAT'S IT I'M SICK OF THIS!" Without warning, Jake leapt to his feet. "We're taking this OUTSIDE, posh boy!"

"That is the _first_ sensible thing you have said _all night_, asshole!" roared Angier, flinging his chair to the ground.

The two of them ran to the exit. Helen watched them go, then bared her teeth at Kay.

"I'm game if _you_ are."

"If we all leave, we forfeit the table. Besides, I wouldn't want to make you cry 'oppression' when I _whoop your ass_."

"Not going to pay some trafficked immigrant to do it for you then, eh?"

"_St Joan's Prep swim team_, surprised if your school let you have exercise beyond walking to _'Mickey D'_."

Outside, as the argument heated up, the two men shoved past the security guard and headed onto the lawn.

"Give you one free move, pig –it's _all you'll SQUIRREL!_"

Both men jerked over to see the offending mammal.

"Those bastards got into my wine cellar one time and ate all my Wheat Thins!" growled Angier.

"One broke into my garage and crapped on my car! _Hours_ cleaning it! _Hours!_"

"Overgrown rats-"

"LET'S **HEADBUTT THE FUCKER!**"

* * *

When the game reached half time, a battered and panting DeMartino slumped down on the sidelines. When the game resumed, he rose up briefly, like a dying man grasping for help, and then fell down. A quick check found he was just too exhausted to move and the attempt to do so might kill him (seven students cheered at the news, many dollars richer).

"Well, there goes the only reason to stay," said Daria. "To the Zon?"

"Not yet," said Jane, "there's still an opportunity for someone else to get injured. Ya gotta have faith."

Down on the rink, Janet Barch sighted the puck and accelerated. The puck was held by Rock-and-Roll Randy. He was open. _Vulnerable._ **Male.**

With a great scream, she swung for the puck and 'accidentally' hit Randy right in the balls with god-like force.

"_eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_"

"Oh dear! Clumsy me!"

She took the puck and headed for the enemy goal, and every male player fell over themselves to escape her.

"See?" said Jane.

"That was _awesome_," said Daria.

To the side, every football player was whimpering.

* * *

"ONCE SNAKE AND YOUR FASCIST REAL-DOLL GET BACK, I'LL TAKE YOU WITH ANY WEAPON-"

"YOU COULDN'T EVEN SPELL WEAPON, CRETIN! WHATEVER YOU ATTEMPT-"

The conversation broke up when the men entered the club, clothes ripped and covered with mud, hands clasped together, cheering a great victory chant:

"_...and Scooby Doo if you came through you're gonna have yourself a Scooby Snack! That's a FACT!_"

"I love that song!" beamed Jake. "Hey honey, Angier and me totally beat up a squirrel!"

The women stared at them in silence.

"...let's just go home," said Kay, a beaten woman.

"Aw Kay, dear, I'm sure there's time for one more dr-"

"_Lets. Just. Go. Home._"

The Sloanes left, with Jake high-fiving Angier on his way out. He crashed down next to Helen, oblivious of her stare.

"That Angier's alright! No, not Angier... An_ger_ Sloane! Yeah! What do you think?"

"Snake, you totally fucked up the night."

"I did? Awwww..."

* * *

After Barch had been disqualified, there was no more reason for the students to stay and watch. Everyone flooded out, with Daria's crew a little more morose than the rest.

"At least one of us is going home to a very uncomfortable silence," said Daria.

"As long as we're not barred at gunpoint from seeing each other, it's fine," said Tom.

"It could happen."

"Well, if you want to put it off," said Jane, "Trent's band are at my house and should be getting drunk soon. Want to see what happens when they try to belch out a Nirvana song?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

DeMartino had only just made it to the changing rooms, where Barch was using the hockey stick to turn a working locker into a broken one.

"And THAT is what you get for not giving me an org- _damn it the stick broke!_"

"MS Barch, could you please LEAVE so I can get changed in PRIVATE?"

"Like your privates are worth seeing, _man_! You're just like those DJs! _MALE!_ I hate you all!"

"Not as MUCH as I HATE them and YOU, you obnoxious, REPRESSED, virulent HARPY!"

"You make me glad I'm single, creep!"

"SAME to YOU!"

There was an angry, tense pause.

"Take your fucking trousers off," she muttered.

O'Neill would come in a minute later and then rapidly leave again.

* * *

Tom crept into his house very quietly. To his surprise, his father was on the couch, in his pyjamas.

"Don't ask," said Angier.

"A sensible course of action." He gulped. "So, erm... Daria sure isn't _anything_ like her parents, eh?"

"Oh yeah, your mother doesn't want you going round Daria's house except when her parents are out. Try not to get caught lying about that, eh son?"

Tom digested this. "Mum wants me to go round my girlfriend's house... _without_ parents around. I'll try not to think too much about the implications here."

* * *

Daria crept into her house very quietly. To her mild surprise, her father was on the coach, and drinking.

"Your mother doesn't want me going round Angier's house," he muttered, then took a swig.

"Is it okay if Tom comes round tomorrow?"

"Sure! I think we've got some squirrel problems around here, he can help-"

"I'll go round his house."

THE END


	11. Ridin Slowly

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 11: Ridin' Slowly**

Andrew Landon looked in confusion at the leather-clad, jet-black haired entity that had appeared in the office.

"Erin, I... I think we need to have a word about suitable clothing in the workpl-"

Erin headbutted him, guzzled half a bottle of vodka, belched, and turned the other into a Molotov cocktail that burnt the office down. "NO FUTURE!" she declared. "SMASH THE STATE!"

Aunt Helen slapped her on the back: "Good work, Erin! We're proud of you! You're one of us, one of us, one of"

* * *

Erin jerked awake.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" She took a breath. **"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"**

Brian turned over in the bed, groaning. "The dream again, honey?"

"_yes..._"

* * *

"Trust me," said Jake. "All you have to do is say what I told you – it'll be just what they want to hear!"

Trent scratched himself idly. "I dunno, man. Your consultancy is usually good but this sounds... I dunno. Lying."

"Well, yeah! That's what marketing is all _about!_"

"Oh yeah. Still, not sure about it. It seems... a betrayal of what I stand for, I guess."

"Now Trent," said Jake kindly. "Do you stand for hardcore rocking and sticking it to the MAN? Will this stop you doing any of that?"

He thought about it for ten seconds. "Hmmm. Guess not."

"Atta boy! Now remember..." That said, Jake uncovered his phone. "Sorry to keep you waiting like that, m'man! Mystik Spiral's frontman is ready to answer your questions now!"

He handed the phone over to Trent.

"Hey." Pause. "Yeah, we're punctual." Pause. "Cool."

He handed the phone back.

"He gave us the gig."

"All _right!_" Jake headbutted the air in triumph. "You and your band, you're going to Alternapalooza to open for Grumpy Guys With Guitars (and a Drummer)! Three and a half songs!"

Trent smiled. "Cool. Er, do we actually have to be punctual?"

"Yeahhhh, sorry about that. But don't worry, ol' Snakey will help you with that! Anyway, better leave you to rehearse, right?"

"Rehearse? No, we're rehearsing on Wednesday."

"It, um, is Wednesday."

"...in that case, I guess there's not much point me still being up. Night."

_Aw crap,_ thought Jake.

* * *

When Daria came home on Thursday, the house was on a war footing. Her mother had taken charge in the lounge and, flanked by Jake and all their local friends, was going over a road map.

"...we knock out the speed cameras _here_, _here_, and _here_ in advance, and we can cut an hour off the travel time..."

"Can we drive over the farms and shit?" asked one punk. "Be quicker and anyway, farms got it comin'."

Axl, the tattoo parlour owner, looked up with confusion. "They do?"

"...YEAH!" the punk answered, very unconvincingly.

"We can't chance it, not with the Tank," said Helen. "It's risky enough letting it _stop_ for bathroom breaks, muddy terrain could kill it. Hmmm. We best take spare cars in case we need to ditch it..."

"I may be overthinking this," broke in Daria, "but couldn't you just not take the Tank?"

Everyone looked at her.

"Oh Daria, please take this seriously," said Helen.

"It's just not _Spiral_ without the Tank!" cried Jake. "I got them to make it into their icon! You see the Tank, you know exactly what sort of band you're getting!"

"One who can't afford a new van," said Daria. "Trent's got a gig then."

"Alternapalooza itself!"

"The festival that had its heyday years ago and never figured out people want to go to festivals in the summer? I've always wanted to go and give it the grand sneer. If I can get you five extra cars, can I come along too?"

Helen shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Daria quickly pulled out her phone and dialled her sister. "Hey, Quinn. Would you and the Maleficent Eleven like to go to Alternapalooza on the weekend? Trent's going to play. I hear it might rain, his shirt could stick to him." She quickly pulled the phone away from her ears as loud squeeing blared from it. "Gotcha."

She dialled a new number. "Hi, Aunt Amy. You know you like ranting about how Alternapalooza has gone downhill? Well, the family's going on Saturday and I intend to snark the place up, so if – Uhuh. Cool."

She dialled again. "Hey Tom. Want to go to a concert at the weekend? Yes, Alternapalooza – oh, really? Sure, you can bring a friend too. Oh, Mum and Dad and some of their friends are coming too – yes, it would definitely be a good idea for him to dress down then. Cool. See you."

Daria put her phone away. "There you go. That might have six cars."

Her parents stared at her in shock.

"Sweetie, when did you become so... _social?_"

"Yes, two phone calls to family members and one to a boy from school. That's clearly the height of..." She thought it through. "Okay, _relatively_ social, I'll give you that."

* * *

It was the dark, early hours of Saturday, and the Morgendorffer's street saw a gathering of punks and menacingly counter-culture types. But this time, it wasn't because they were all coming back to Hellion Wheels & Snake's place for some more drinks. This time, there was a proper reason.

Tom's Bentley pulled up alongside the house, followed by a sleek red Corvette XR1. They looked as out of place as a happy person in a Maths class. Tom was dressed in his normal lack-of-style, while the Corvette's handsome young driver had decided not to look preppy and to look lower-middle-class, only to end up dressing like someone preppy who was trying to look lower-middle-class.

"I did offer to lend you some of my clothes," said Tom.

"Please. I do have to have standards."

"Fair point, well made."

Tom rang the doorbell and a slightly frazzled Daria opened it.

"Four hours sleep and that's it," she growled. "This, I should warn you, is the one time I _don't_ want sarcastic comments. Who's that guy?"

"This is Stephen Pierson-Wells the Second, from Fielding. His nickname is Pee-Wee, because... well, that's a long story and he'd hurt me."

Stephen waved, cautiously. "I hate to be a bother, but there's this ghastly smell..."

"That's the Tank," said Daria. "You grow used to it. That's why we're up during hours when only vampires, ghouls, and Quinn's friends are going to be awake: I pointed out that we'd need extra hours to compensate for the Tank's quote-unquote speed and indestructibility. I am kicking myself for this.

"Anyway, come in and meet the people who'll be making Stephen live up to his nickname."

* * *

The lounge and kitchen were packed, as punks, Mystik Spirallers, and a very amused Jane were packing up supplies (much of it beer) , going through maps, and synchronising CB radios.

"The 'plus' on the battery goes where the plus mark in the casing is," said Amy Barksdale with infinite patience to a punk.

"..._whoa!_"

Daria began to point people out. "Aunt Amy you know, Jane you know, my parents and Quinn you unfortunately know, Quinn's gang over there nobody would want to know... And over there is Trent and his band, the biker patiently defacing an American flag is Axel the tattoo parlour owner, the thirty-something punk who put some hair on her bleach is Axl's current girlfriend, the punk sticking the CB aerial up his nose is Mr Mackenzie and that's his wife trying to out-burp Trent's drummer.."

She pointed at a group of four young women, one of them sulking mightily. "And that's Trent's girlfriend Monique and her band, the Harpies. They do have individual names but I can't remember them."

"I'm having second thoughts, Tom," said Stephen with fear.

* * *

Trent sidled cautiously over to Monique – he couldn't remember if they were broken up this week – and murmured "Hey".

Monique opened her mouth to speak. "He-"

"Hey!" mimicked the sulking drummer girl in the corner. "Come to rub it in, have you?"

Trent thought about this. "I'm not sure," he eventually said.

"Bex," sighed Monique, "Trent's not come to gloat over his success. How long have you known him?"

"Didn't stop _you_ bitching about how the 'half-assed waster' got to a concert before we d-"

"Trent, I was drunk, _I swear!_"

"No, it's a fair comment," he said. "Um, the rest of you gals aren't upset too, are you?"

The chubby, spaced-out form of guitarist Jessie looked up. "Um. I dunno."

"I'm fine," said guitarist Nico, her voice breaking and proving her wrong.

"Oh hey Trent," said Jessie, her thoughts catching up with events.

"Hey. So, er..." He thought for something to say to calm the situation down, then gave up (too much work!) and just shrugged. "See you there?"

"You didn't come over just to note we'll see each other at the same place we're both going to," said Monique.

"I guess not. Oh well. See ya."

The Harpies watched him go, Bex spitting as he went.

"This bites! What do Spiral have we don't? At least _we're_ original!"

* * *

Daria's parents commanded the rollout, with Daria as their principle advisor. Everyone was directed to the cars present, based on a logical plan which was totally ignored by everyone who started to get picky about what car they were in.

"This is like herding cats to a dog show," said Daria, as Mr Mackenzie refused to go in his _own_ car.

"Look at them all, totally ignoring plans and doing their own thing!" said Jake happily.

"But they're _our_ plans."

"Hey, ya gotta live by your own rules, kiddo."

Daria shrugged, and watched the last stragglers choose their cars. This, she noted, left them with two problems:

a) The first was that, to his utter horror, Stephen's car was now besieged by Quinn and three of her friends, and he'd taken refuge with Tom. Which would leave them down a driver except he'd left the keys in the ignition and Jane had hopped in gleefully, which... well, made the problem worse.

b) Because someone else had taken their van, the only slot left for her parents was in Aunt Amy's car. (Unless she gave up her slot in Tom's car. HA.)

"So, Mum, you know you wanted that quality time with the family?" She pointed at Amy's car. "Well, now you can."

Jake looked at Amy's car, then to his wife, then back, then yelled "OH LOOK TOM'S GOT A FREE SEAT I'LL RIDE WITH HIM!"

_Crap,_ thought Daria.

* * *

"I can think of at least five problems with this plan," said Daria, 'sitting' in the tight space between the front two seats of Amy's car.

"Nonsense, it'll be great fun!" said Amy. "You get all the speed but none of the drawbacks of all that 'safety' and 'comfort' dragging you down!"

"And we can have a nice, girls-only, family chat," said Helen unconvincingly.

"So it's a coincidence that I'm a buffer zone between you two?"

"I don't know what you mean." Helen coughed, then took out her CB radio. "This is Hellion Wheels: sound off!"

The radios blared to life.

"Mackenzies, roger!"

"Tank, roger!"

"Shaggy, roger!"

"Jane and her CAR OF STEEL DEATH, roger!"

"Axl, roger!"

"Monique, roger!"

"Jamie, roger, that's JAMIE I SAID JAMIE-" "No one cares, jock boy" (Random punching could be heard)

"...oh, right, yeah, Harpies... Reggie?"

"Broadsword to Danny Boy, wilco," replied Tom.

"All RIGHT!" snarled Helen. "ALL ENGINES REV! LET'S BURN THE ROAD!"

* * *

Erin and Brian, still half asleep, watched the convoy roar off with massive smiles.

"They're gone," whispered Erin. "We've got the whole house to ourselves and no punk music at all for _two days_."

"No more punk music," said Brian with rapture in his voice.

"We can do anything we want. _Anything._"

There was an expectant pause.

"Well, I'm going back to bed! See ya tomorrow, hon."

Erin was quiet for a very long time, before sighing and going back too.

* * *

Amy's car bombed ahead at the front of the convoy, Rush songs blaring from the radio – then, after Helen grabbed the radio, Black Flag. Then back again. And again. And again...

It was almost a relief for Daria when the radio crackled to life.

"This is the Western front, please tell us we're relieved, Haig, over."

"The Tank's broken down," came Trent's report.

_"Already?"_

"It might be catching fire."

_Maybe I should have just had two hours sleep,_ thought Daria.

* * *

The Tank _had_ been on fire, but it put itself out. The hard part was sorting the engine out, which took two toolkits, three men with mechanical knowledge, one Jane and her one Stickmata 5000 glue-gun, and a dozen people standing around loudly offering (bad) advice.

It took an hour. By this time, other drivers were on the road and the stalled convoy was backing up traffic. Angry horns filled the air. Helen and Jake had gone to 'explain the situation', so now angry swearing filled the air too.

Daria took Max aside and asked him pointblank: "How many times will the Tank do this again?"

"Probably twice," he said.

"Why doesn't the Tank have a toolkit in it?"

"What, you want us to live _safe_ lives, like... like common _rat-racer conventionalists?_"

"Yes."

Max had no comeback to this.

"I dunno, man," said Mr Mackenzie, now covered in oil up to (and including) his hair. "We worked on every part that could be causing it, what else can we do?"

Jane kicked the Tank in the grill. The engine coughed to life, and everyone cheered.

"Sometimes it requires pain to remember it's supposed to function," she informed him. "It's kinda like my brother in that respect."

Everyone turned back to their vehicles – seeing her chance, Daria _ran_ to Tom's Bentley and jumped in the front seat. Unfortunately, Andrea, Quinn's friend Death Rowe, and Stephen all dived into the back (and Stephen looked rather unhappy to see who he was sitting between).

Andrea gave Tom and Daria a long, angry stare. "If you start kissing or doing lovey-dovey talk, I _will_ puke over your nice clean fatcat seats."

"She so will," said Death Rowe, chewing gum menacingly. "And don't think _you_ won't get sprayback, posh boy!"

"You mean me or Stephen?" asked Tom.

Rowe looked thrown. "Umm... both, really."

Daria narrowed her eyes. "You look familiar."

"I can't! I'm from Oakwood! _We've never met!_"

"Ah. My sympathies. I've heard bad things about their Maths teacher, Mr F. Ayche."

"Oh yeah, he's a total douche," snarled Rowe. "I'll smash his smug face in one day, oh yeah..."

Tom looked at Daria, confused, and mouthed 'Mr Fake?'. She nodded.

"Absolutely convincing story, Stacy – oh, I'm sorry, I'm thinking of someone else I know called Rowe. I'm not at all sure why that is."

"Erm."

"This conversation is as boring as _you_ are!" yelled Andrea. "Start driving already, Daria!"

"Unless Daria's telekinetic-" started Tom.

"SOMEBODY drive! Or Posh Boy 2 here gets it!"

Stephen started to whimper.

* * *

As the convoy roared along, Amy looked with confusion at her new car-mate.

"So, erm, Shaggy... Cosplay's fun and all, but why do you always dress like Shaggy from Scooby Doo?"

He looked shocked. "I do?"

There was a long, awkward pause.

"Y'know, this explains a _lot_ about the last few years..."

* * *

"Getting hungry here!" barked Quinn into the CB.

Up ahead, a sandwich came flying out of the Morgendorffer's truck. Axl, biking as an outrider, caught it, then decelerated to match Jamie's car, and handed it through the window.

"Bitching!" cheered Quinn before shoving it into her mouth.

"That was _cool_-" said Jamie.

"Who said YOU could talk, mofo?"

"Sor-" Jamie thought about it, then fell silent.

"Hey, we're approaching that other car," said Burnout, coming back to reality. "The one with the Harpies in it."

"_Are_ we?" Murderous fire gleamed in Quinn's eyes. "Time to warn that bitch off my Trent! _Johnny, RAM that van!_"

Jamie thought quickly. If he did this, he'd trash his car and get the snot beaten out of him by the Harpies. He'd also make Quinn think he was cool-

With a feral roar, he spun the car sideways, overshot the Harpies' van, and skidded with a bone-jolting halt into a muddy ditch, throwing everyone forwards and causing the car to stall.

There was silence.

"Quinn," said Burnout, "we've crashed."

* * *

The convoy halted again so the punks could push Jamie's car out of its mudtrap, but under Daria's orders the Tank kept going: it was too soon to risk another coma from it. Quinn, infuriated, left the car for another. Stephen took the opportunity to flee for the safety of Amy's car, only to discover too late that the imposing, battle-scarred form of Quinn's gang-mate Dave was there too.

Nicky leapt out of the moving Tank ("ARRRRG WAIT I'M OKAY") for Tom's car, after another 'creative disagreement' with Max.

"I don't care what he says, Guns and Roses isn't the same without Slash!"

"Yeah, he's a Legend of Rock," said Tom, "alongside Tom Morello, Bret Michaels, and the Devil. Guitar Hero wouldn't lie to us."

"Well, the Devil goes without saying," said Nicky.

"He's the _ultimate_ rocker," growled Andrea with religious fervour. "Rebelling against _the ULTIMATE Man!_ Going his own way! An icon to us all."

"The Devil's evil and take souls," said Daria, "so logically he can't have anything to do with rock. He's behind all those boy bands and American Idol winners. Rockers should therefore all go to church."

"You disgust me," said Andrea.

"Wait, wait, I think you're onto something here, Daria!" Nicky leaned forward, his eyes wide. "That means Jesus was... Jesus was _crucified by The Man!_ My God, I never fully realised until now..."

"He did have long hair," said Death Rowe in a thoughtful voice.

"_We have to find a church! WE HAVE TO!_"

The group discussed whether Mohammed was also rock and roll.

* * *

The "MORBID+DORFFERS" truck growled along the highway, Jake now back at the wheel and blaring out aggressively loud music for him and the passengers to sing along to.

"Fuck your noise pollution rules, Ameri-KKK-aah!" Jake waved a fist at, as it turned out, a field of cows. "We're unbeaten and unbowed!"

At that moment, Mr Mackenzie's phone rang. He checked the caller ID and his mouth hung open.

"Turn the music off! Everyone silent! _Please!_"

Jake, surprised, did so. There was _fear_ in his friend's voice.

Mackenzie answered the phone and his voice took on a gruffer tone. "What is it, Michael? Oh. Yes, yes, it's fine if Angie comes over, you're both sensible... well, _you're_ a sensible kid. Ha, yes, I know, but sorry, I just call them like I see them! Goodbye."

He hung up and looked down guiltily. "My son... my son doesn't know I'm still a punk."

"...oh."

"He thinks my wife and I are at something work related."

"Oh man, I had no idea," said Jake, his voice soft. "This doesn't change anything for _me_, man. You're still the same dude who headbutted some bastard through a table!"

"Hawk is the _real_ GI Joe leader," he snarled at the memory.

"Society makes it hard for all of us, I know that – you still keep the freak flag flying, you haven't _actually_ sold out! Are you an anti-Christ, Mack-Daddy?"

"I **AM** AN ANTI-CHRIST!"

The whole van roared in approval.

* * *

Aside from the frightened breaths of Stephen, Amy's car was devoid of human noise. Finally, with a rumble akin to continents shifting, Dave spoke:

"That Sick, Sad World episode with the five-year-old Trike Brigade bikers was _totally awesome_."

"That was a fun ep," said Amy. "It reminded me of Quinn when she was that age."

Stephen stared at Amy with more fear than he'd had at Dave. "You... you're with... _that_ sh—"

"Man, we do _one_ episode on whether Rand Paul is an empty vessel for Ayn Rand's malignant spirit and everyone thinks you're weird."

* * *

"All romance is doomed to betrayal and decay," said Andrea, her eyes never leaving Daria's. "Your relationship will fail and the memories will bring you nothing but pain, especially when you think of him with the friend he betrayed you for."

"That's okay then," said Daria. "I only have one friend and she already had him. Antisocialism wins yet again."

"You have a sister," said Tom.

"If you cheat on me with Quinn, you have interests I am unwilling to engage with and therefore I approve of the cheating."

The CB radio spat to life: "Hey, this is the Tank. We could do with a bathroom break and, erm, stuff."

A reply came back over: "This is Hellion – can it wait?"

"Not really. We kinda need to go now." There was a pause. "_Go to the bathroom, gotta go there now – this song's about the where and when, forget the why and how._" Pause. "_Go to the bathroom, gotta go there now – this song's about the where and when, forget the why and how._ Maybe another repeat..."

"You don't deserve this gig, you freaking hacks—" / Monique:"Damn it, Bex, stay off the radio!"

"All _right._" Helen's voice was beaten. "Bathroom and food break at the nearest rest stop."

Tom turned to Daria. "You think the Tank will be able to start moving again after?"

"No."

* * *

The convoy descended on the diner like a convoy of hungry people. There were no real incidents, except Quinn trying to "accidentally" open her car door so sharply it'd break Monique's knee as she passed (she mistimed it and hit Jamie). The Tank, however, was leaking... _something_ on the tarmac.

"This is the best day out I've had since that time Metalmouth almost murdered us," said Jane, grinning fit to burst. "I get to drive a car and I've only come close to an accident _eleven_ times!"

"Please don't break Tom's friend's car," said Daria. "It didn't do anything to you. And besides, Tom's already in the bathroom trying to convince the guy not to run off home."

"I thought you had that guy warned."

"No one can be adequately warned for dealing with my family and their friends. I can tell you how bad nuclear war is, but you'll never truly grasp it until you're starving to death with radiation poisoning."

"This whole trip makes me inspired to paint. Or maybe a sculpture." Jane stared into space. "Maybe a used car, partially set on fire, as the basis..."

"I hear some sad, lonely people go to concerts for the music."

"Please, this is Alternapalooza. It's all about scoring some drugs and cheap floozies."

"So Brittany's going to be there?"

* * *

"I'm going to die," muttered Stephen, trying to curl up in the back of a toilet stall without actually _touching_ the filth-sodden thing. "I am going to die and they'll turn my skin into one of their jackets."

"The punks are a bit tricky to get used to," said Tom sympathetically. "I promise no one will kill you."

"I may take refuge in the Tank from here on."

"That _can_ kill you. Don't go in the Tank, please." Tom gripped his friend by the shoulders. "Look, Steve, just focus on this: when you get back to Fielding and tell people of this day, and tell them I can back up every claim you made... _you will be the hardest man in school_. The Tops will open their tops for you."

A hungry light gleamed in Stephen's eye. "Even the seniors?"

"Sure, why not."

* * *

"Hey," said Jesse, sitting still.

"Hey," replied Jessie.

Shaggy sat down at their table. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Hey."

Pause. "Where are we again?"

* * *

The others may have rallied round him, but Mackenzie still felt out of sorts. He wanted to reaffirm, again, that he was a true punk. But how?

Then he saw a Hell's Angel about to leave the diner.

"Hey, you! Your mother's a whore!"

"You want to take this outside, asshole?"

"Yes!"

It was the simple things in life you treasure.

* * *

Trent revealed a set of scribbled notes to Monique. "I just got inspired. I think this could be a breakout song. What do you think?"

She read it.

"Trent, honey, this is just the same two lines about the bathroom repeated over and over, with the same three-chord beat. For four minutes."

"Hmmm. I thought I might improvise something once I got going..."

"I... I'd save it until the audience is on their third beer. They'll be more receptive."

* * *

Amy plopped down next to Daria and Jane, smiling slightly as Jane went from animated to comatose at the presence of her idol.

"Sick, Sad World did an expose on what goes into diner food and you girls do not want to know what bits we thought were too graphic for pre-watershed television."

"I have a feeling we're going to find out in long, graphic detail," said Daria.

"Well now you've spoilt the surprise for Jane."

"_mbl mbl hi Ms Awesomely Amy_"

"Daria, your mother still hates My Chemical Romance, right?"

"I don't know, it's not something that comes up very often in our normal conversations. She did once punch the radio when the new single came on though."

"_Excellent_. That's my next bit of road music!"

"I like using classical. There's so much to choose from, and it all gets Quinn out of the house when I want some space."

"Ah, you just don't possess Barksdale DNA if you're not violently at odds with your sister and at least one of your older relatives. You carry on our tradition – well, part of it, your mother is an actual human being and not Despair of the Endless."

Daria looked at her aunt, a little taken back. She'd heard comments like that before about Grandma Barksdale, but... well, she hadn't actually _talked_ to her gran before, not for almost ten years.

"Grandma's not that bad," she said, hesitantly and because she felt she should.

"Yeah, she's much worse. Badumtish! You set 'em up..."

"No, I mean she's really not."

Amy gave her an odd look. "Has she phoned you or something?"

She'd phoned several times and Daria had phoned her, but on instinct she just said "Yes" instead of elaborating.

"That's interesting, because I know your mother won't let her. For valid reasons." Her voice had gotten quiet. "I should really tell Helen about this but if you haven't, then I assume there's no need."

"She seemed different to how I remember."

"She must want something. That's her style. Anyway: speaking of family, how've you all gone for so long without murdering Brian and leaving his corpse outside a strip club as a warning to the others?"

The conversation lightened and never came back to Edie Barksdale, but Daria remembered it. The entire _concept_ of her grandmother changing over the last ten years, of actually being a lonely old woman who wanted to make amends, was rejected out of hand. It wasn't a side she was used to from her aunt.

* * *

It had been a blissful few hours since the Morgendorffers and their... friends had left. Hours of peace and quiet.

The problem with the quiet, Erin found, was that it was completely empty. A few attempts at conversation between her and Brian had died, and she'd known he realised this when he announced he was going to do some exam revision.

By lunchtime, she couldn't stand the silence any longer and had just left the house, Brian mumbling "see ya, hon" when she mentioned it. She had a vague idea of eating lunch somewhere, but she wasn't sure of anywhere specific and could do with some company really...

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her boss' car drive past her. And then it stopped, and started to reverse, and the window wound down _very quickly_.

"Erin! Almost didn't see you there!" Andrew Landon beamed at her. "I was just going to the country club for lunch, you want a lift anywhere?"

"Hi, Mr Landon!"

"Andrew, please," he smarmed.

"Heh, okay, 'Andrew' – well I was looking for somewhere that did lunch meals."

"Well, Sedimentary Rock does let non-members in if they're accompanied..."

Erin got in the car.

* * *

Lunch finished with a minimum of incidents – only two punch-ups – and everyone bundled back into their vehicles. But when the ignition was turned, the Tank gave a great shudder before something fell and it died a sudden, violent death. Something splurted out of the exhaust pipe, like the legendary loosened bowels.

The punks crowded round it, and Mackenzie checked the engine. Or, at least, opened the bonnet and grimaced as he saw the fluids gushing from it.

"It's dead."

"DAMN IT!" damned Jake. "All the band's equipment is in there and all their fans are expecting to see the Tank!"

"All four of them," muttered Jane to Daria.

"This just bites! _What do we do?_"

Daria looked at the Tank, then at the rest of the convoy, then back again. An idea quickly formed.

"Whose car has the strongest engine?"

Tom raised his hand.

"Okay, anyone with rope and chains, step forward – we're going to have to _tow_ the freaking thing."

* * *

Andrew went into the country club first, so when she entered he could do the 'tada!' arm gesture.

"What do you think?"

"It's alright," said Erin. "Not as big as the one back home."

Andrew's smile became fixed, then segued back into being genuine.

"Wait until you try the wine, they've got all the best vintages! And _my_ treat, I insist, you've been doing good work for the firm."

"Thank you!" She looked at his hands. "Didn't you have a ring on earlier? I could've sworn-"

"No. No. Not at all."

* * *

"All _right_, Bentley!" roared Tom. "**Let's get BUSY!**"

His foot smashed down on the accelerator and the Bentley snarled forwards, dragging the Tank with it. His car was full of cheers, and he high-fived all the passengers.

"How's things back there?" he said into the CB.

Max's voice came over the radio. "I… I don't remember the last time it went this _fast_."

* * *

"…and that's the real story about Poe's lost manuscript," finished Amy.

Andrea stared in awe. _"Whoa."_

"Anyway, excuse me for a second." Amy turned to her radio and slipped in the CD. A few seconds later, My Chemical Romance was blaring out and she began to tap on the steering wheel. "Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!"

The CB radio screamed out in Helen's voice: "Amy, I can hear it from back her! _Cease and desist!_"

She turned the song down. "Oh, I'm sorry Helen. I forgot. Won't happen again."

She then put the CB radio right next to the car radio speakers and turned the song back on again.

**"Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na!"**

The Morbid-Dorffer truck moved out of formation and then back in as some brave soul struggled to keep Helen from ramming her sister.

* * *

Daria had never known true fear until she'd stupidly agreed to be in a car Jane was driving.

"YEAHHHHHHHHH!" yelled Jane, Motorhead blaring out the window as the car went 50MPH in a wibbly-wobbly out-of-control line across the road. "That's the way I like it baby-"

"But _I do_ want to live forever!" said Daria, knowing she wouldn't be heard.

"DA-NA-NA!" sung Quinn and Jake along to the radio, sticking their heads and shoulders out the back window for maximum slipstream. "DA-NA-DAH!"

Axl biked along, saw the sight, and gave them all a thumbs-up.

_Not surprising,_ thought Daria. _Hell's supposed to be irritating._

_

* * *

_

In the back of Jamie's car, while he wept silent tears at the thought Quinn was no longer there, Stephen found himself scowled at by the menacing figures of Dave and Koichi, bruisers the pair of 'em. Death Rowe watched from the front seat, clearly eager to see a punch-up.

He stared back at them all. "Don't mess with me, pissants. I've gone through _Fielding_ hazing. I actually _touched the floor_ in that diner bathroom."

Koichi recoiled at the last bit, thoughts of germs in his minds.

"We ain't in Fielding now, prick," growled Dave. "You're with the _underclass_ now."

"Well, there's a reason we step on you from above."

There was a pause.

"When we're out of this car, I'm going to kiss you so hard your teeth will come out," said an impressed Rowe.

* * *

_I'm dating Jeffy, aren't I? Oh wait, no, that's Stacy Rowe who's doing that: YOU'RE Stacy Rowe. Oh yeah. Thanks, Stacy!_

* * *

"…and he just couldn't keep a happy face after that!" Andrew burst out laughing. "Ahh, the IRS, it's such fun to keep things from them."

"Wow," said Erin, smiling. She couldn't remember the last time Brian talked about achieving something. "You're so smart! Okay, obviously you know you're smart, you invented the folding coffee-cup—"

"Don't sell yourself short though," said Andrew. "You're the best person we've got on Sales – I think you could sell anything! You could sell _me_ on universal healthcare! And you certainly sold me on yourself."

He took her hand in his.

"Um," she said.

"I know, I know, Human Resources regulations but hey, rules were made to be bent, right?"

"Um."

There was a pause.

"Um."

* * *

"Jane to all units! Jane to all units! _I can see Alternapalooza!_"

Cheer after cheer erupted from the radio. Axl did a wheelie. Quinn and Jake high-fived. Mr Mackenzie threw a celebratory bottle at something. Helen waved her bra in the air. Trent woke up.

"And we're actually early," said Daria with surprise, looking at her watch. "Only by five minutes but still."

"Don't tell Trent, he'll refuse to come out for _ten_ minutes as a matter of principle."

* * *

"YOU MAKE ME ANGRRYYYYYYYYY!" roared the lead singer of Grumpy Guys With Guitars (and a Drummer), going through the Number 32 single 'You Make Me Angry'. "ANGRY! ANGRYYYYYY!"

A few people gently moshed, which just made things worse.

The venue organiser looked astonished as Mystic Spiral came loping over with their kit. He checked his watch, and then his phone, and then a random stranger's watch.

"You're _early!_" he exclaimed, like a normal person would go 'that's an alien spaceship!'. "That's… I won't forget this. I've got ins with Maryland Mayhem and Guitarfest 2011, I'll pass on your details! My god, a band that's _early…_"

"We're _what?_" said Trent, aghast.

"Thank you Mister Organiser sir," said Max in an obedient, grateful voice.

* * *

"Hey. We're Mystik Spiral. And this is a song we'd like to dedicate to our van, The Tank.

"_When the aliens come/When the death rays hum/When the bombers bomb/WE'LL STILL BE DRIVING YOU!_"

"That song was originally about me and him dating, but we broke up after he wrote it," said Monique to Daria and Jane. "As we do. He always did say he was going to re-use it for something…"

"I should warn you my sister is trying to bump you off and take Trent for herself."

"Eh, I was fifteen once too."

* * *

At the end of the day, Quinn's gang turned up at the tank with three new engines and their associated parts (nobody asked where they'd come from). A few minutes of intense surgery by Mr Mackenzie and the van came to life with a defiant, dinosaurian roar.

Everyone cheered, and Max wept openly.

"Well, that only went moderately badly," said Daria. "Of course now we have a long drive home and it won't be until 8AM tomorrow that we get back. Mum?"

"Thank you, Daria." Helen whipped out a batch of thermos jugs. "All right! Who's going to ingest the black coffee and do the night-shift driving?"

Jane grinned. "I'll-"

"_I'll do it!_" roared Stephen, glowing with the aura of a conquering warrior.

Jane's face fell, then she turned to Amy. _"mbl mbl borrow your car?"_

_

* * *

_

Tom handed control of the Bentley over to someone else. He and Daria gently slept on each other on the ride home.

* * *

The groggy Morgendorffers climbed out of their vehicles and lurched to the front door of their house one fine morning… and, to their surprise, saw Erin doing the same.

"Out clubbing?" asked Helen.

Erin blinked. "…yes?"

* * *

Max got the Tank within one metre of his place and then the engine died.

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Trent's song (and Daria's view on Hell) comes from the 2000 "Daria's Inferno" video game. The book "The Daria Diaries" long ago claimed Alternapalooza was a summer concert, when the show had it during the school year – I tried to pretend I hadn't noticed for the purposes of this story.


	12. Misery Clicked

GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 12: Misery, Clicked

Daria had been working for weeks on her Lawndale Leaks site, patiently gathering every dark humour, known injustice, blatant corruption, naked incompetence, and shortage of toilet paper that she could find.

In that time, only five different people had logged on: one was her, three were people she'd deliberately informed of it, and one was a Nigerian general who was willing to put a few thousand dollars in its bank account. Which is what happens when you make a website and don't promote it. She'd first told herself she was saving that for when she had everything ready, but now there was another reason. A true reason.

She pointed at her reflection in the computer screen. "Is this a wuss I see before me?"

Quinn, passing the room at that point, yelled "YES!".

"Thanks sis, you're always contributing such wonderful insights." She sighed. "Wow, I wish that had been sarcasm."

This was it, the big flaw of her: she didn't want to engage with things and get involved. It was the same reason she had hundreds of short stories and few were ever read by the outside world, because then they'd make the jump from potential bestsellers and Pulitzer winners to rejected slop. She was smart enough to note this was a flaw but too lazy to do anything about it. If there was an All-America Laziness Competition, she wouldn't even wake up that day.

_Okay. It's time for the family breakfast. If I see or hear any example of someone else intending to try or actually trying a new and dangerous thing, I will put Lawndale Leaks out there. And Dad throwing cereal into his mouth and then beer and swirling the mixture doesn't count, he does that every other week._

Downstairs, Erin looked like a zombie's zombie, all sunken eyes and pale skin.

"You _were_ out late," said Helen, before slapping her on the back. "Brilliant! I'm so proud of you Erin, staying out on a work night! You'll show those office scum!"

"I was nowhere in particular," said Erin, a line she'd clearly rehearsed.

"Hey, pass me some muesli and a Bud Lite, will ya?" asked Jake. "I just thought of a great idea!"

"Try to vomit away from the cooker, sweetie, it's always a pain to scrub down."

"Do you think crewcuts are last season?" asked Quinn. "I can't let myself become a wannabe look-a-like, maybe I should shave it all off. Or maybe spike it, go a bit retro..."

Daria began to drink her coffee.

"Well, I've studied long enough: I'm going to take my real estate exam this week," announced Brian.

Daria spat her coffee out right into Quinn's hair.

"_EWWWWWWW-_ wait, I think the stains might give an interesting effect..."

* * *

"...and so now it's on Google, Bing, and I spammed Sick, Sad Message Board. And I put a hilarious photo of a cat on the front page, so it's bound to get hits."

"What's the cat doing?" asked Jane, as the girls walked through the school corridor.

"Looking at a photo of itself on a computer, with the words 'I'm in my computer, being metafictional'."

"I get it, and would like to give it back."

"Yeah, I need to get the advice of someone who'd been expert at Internet humour. Someone with the right mind." She looked ahead and smiled. "Hey, Kevin!"

The quarterback, in mid-conversation with Mack, looked over. "Yo?"

"If you saw a photo of a cat looking at itself on a computer, what would you caption it?"

"Whoa, a cat looking at – Ha! That's AWESOME! That's the funniest thing I've heard all _week_! Hahahahaha! Hey, Mack, _a cat looking at itself on a computer!_"

"I heard."

Daria turned to Jane and shrugged. "Clearly I've been overthinking this."

Kevin immediately forgot what he'd just been talking about and turned back to Mack. "This is it, Mack Daddy! The week of weeks!"

"Yeah, you just mentioned it ten seconds before. And don't call me that."

"But the man is coming! The man!"

Daria suddenly opened her mouth in shock. "The _Man_?"

"Yeah!" yeahed Kevin. "Tommy Sherman, dude! He brought it _home_! State championship! And now, he's coming back to Lawndale!"

Mack smiled apologetically. "I know it's been all over the school for over a week now, but you know, you might have somehow missed all of that."

The two players walked off, and Daria gave a sigh of relief.

"When I was four, I thought the Man was a real person. I had this sudden, primal terror that maybe, just maybe, this was actually true. And then anything could be true, like Sarah Palin's second brain cell. I'm glad Quinn wasn't here: when she was little, I had to tell her there were monsters under her bed so she wouldn't be scared the Man was under there."

"You're kidding."

"Of course. The Man would never be under there, he'd subcontract it to his junior staff." Daria paused for a second. "So who's Tommy Sherman?"

Jane stared at her. "Daria, there was an assembly about it and everything."

"I like assemblies. They're valuable reading time."

* * *

Erin came into work and found Andrew Landon waiting at her desk.

"Ah, Ms Chambers. If it's not too short notice, can we go over the Baxman Industries history after hours? They're a big client, we need to make sure we have a strategy for contract renewal discussions."

Erin nodded. "No problem, Mr Landon! I left some notes at home though, I'll go retrieve them at lunch."

"That's fine."

Sometime after lunch, Helen would wonder where she'd misplaced some of her leather gear, because she was _sure_ it'd been hanging out to dry earlier.

* * *

On the school lawn, after Tom and Jane had looked at her expectantly for a full minute, Daria finally asked: "What's the big deal about this football guy, anyway?"

"I knew you'd break," said Tom.

"He was quarterback three years ago when the school won the state championship," said Jane. "My brother knew him."

"Well, why name the goal posts after him? Why not the whole stadium?"

"His trademark was, he always wanted to run the touchdown in himself."

"School sports teach teamwork and co-operation."

"But he couldn't keep from waving to the crowd when he did it. They cheered, he waved, and wham! He ran right into the goal post. He broke his own nose twice." Jane started to speak in a breathless, 'good golly!' voice. "Then, in the playoffs a week before the state championship, he scored the winning touchdown, and hit the goal post so hard he cracked his helmet! He was unconscious for six days. Miraculously, he woke up _the night before the big game_ feeling great! The next day, he led the team to-" (here Jane saluted) "VICTORY!"

Daria pretended to wake up. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did we get to the part where this has anything to do with education and learning?"

"Well, now the school has bought two goal posts designed to break apart rather than split your skull, and they're naming it after good ol' Tommy Sherman."

"We have the budget for more than one?"

"No, but after school, Tommy joined the army and did a tour in Afghanistan. Rather than be seen to insult a war hero, the school's just going to cut the canteen budget."

"Oh no. Soon the food will become tasteless and lacking in health." Daria yawned. "Let me guess: if I ask people what Tommy did after the championship and the army, everyone will look incredibly vacant and then repeat 'he won the championship and joined the army!'."

"Nah, ask my parents and they'll just scowl," said Tom. "It was _Fielding_ he beat in the championships, you see. 'The Sherman Vermin', I remember people at parties calling him, until the whole army thing made them think they shouldn't do that in public."

"Of course not. Joining the army makes you a saint who was retroactively always nice to small children and puppies, and your flatulence caused plants to grow."

"Trent's friend Curtis joined the army and it made him become a hippy," said Jane.

"Grandpa Anderson-Parker joined the army and got herpes while he was in Italy," said Tom. "Love is a wonderful thing."

* * *

Angela Li lurked in her office, going through her morning ritual of googling "Lawndale High". It was a great soothing feeling, seeing all those websites and news stories that proclaimed the wonders of her school, and of her. And if someone was found saying otherwise, she knew who to send the lawyers after.

Saturation strikes were the best strikes!

With a happy sigh, she clicked on the fourth page of Google.

"Lawndale Leaks? Blast, if this is about the plumbing again..."

She clicked. She read. She pressed her red panic button to summon the head of security.

"Steve, _we're opening the Malcontents File._"

"Which one?"

_"THE BLACK ONE."_

The Black Folder was where the worst of the worst were kept on file: Li's equivalent of the McCarthy list, still containing eight pages on the graduated Penny Lane _just in case_.

"It has to be someone still at the school," said Li, rifling through the papers. "They're too up to date to be Penny – but make a note for me to check if she's involved, I bet she is!" She slammed twelve sheets on the table. "Bring these ones into the office at once: we'll see how long they stand up to interrogation!"

Steve looked at the list and frowned. "Mr DeMartino?"

"He's head of the union. _Malcontent Number Two._"

"I don't think Quinn Morgendorffer's going to be behind a website. Doesn't that involve typing and stuff?"

"She could – _will_ – have accomplices! Get to work, we need to step on this fast: the website may even now be spreading around, destroying the school's reputation!"

* * *

"You're on page five of Google," Tom informed her, looking up from the library computer. "You may have been on page four before the Stoner Cold blog did a post about getting high in Lawndale."

"I'm bad at being popular at something. I hope this won't change your impression of me."

"Well I _was_ hoping to be Homecoming King."

"There's a remote possibility I didn't put as much effort into putting Lawndale Leaks about as I could have, because I was worried about what feedback I'd get."

"You're _deliberately_ bad at being popular as a pre-emptive defence mechanism? Whoa, this is shocking stuff. It's the end of a Saw movie come to life."

Daria punched him lightly in the shoulder. "That's what I like about you, Tom, you're such a supportive boyfriend." She sighed. "I guess I need to think about whether I _really_ want to challenge Li and her corruption, or if it's just a heroic fantasy like the one about removing the football team's kneecaps. If it's the former, I really should work at it – I can't just assume the world will do the work for me-"

There came an out-of-synch thudding of jackboots (and sneakers); two security guards had entered the building and were advanced on Daria, tasers drawn and held sideways like they'd seen on a TV show once. Steve had shades on indoors.

"Daria Patti Morgendorffer!" bellowed Steve. "You will move to the principal's office asap!"

"It's pronounced 'ay-sayp'," lied Daria.

"_Is it?_ Aw man, I've been saying it wr- _Advance now_, Morgendorffer! And if you _have_ done that Lawndale Leaks site, you can consider us the plumbers!"

There was a pause.

"Uh..."

"Because you're here to fix the leak?" said Daria.

"Yeah! Come on!"

As Daria was marched out, every student sitting at a computer googled "Lawndale Leaks" to see what all the fuss is about.

* * *

The reception in Ms Li's office had not been designed to hold twelve people. If she was writing a story about this, Daria would say it stank of fear, but unfortunately it stank of close-quarters sweat and bad breath.

"Would this be a bad time to mention I had baked beans for lunch?"

The crowd edged a few inches away from her, giving her some (relative) breathing space.

Half of those gathered were members of Quinn's gang, with a seventh being DeMartino, an eighth being a terrified Upchuck, a ninth being Mohammed ("it's because I'm wearing a bomber jacket, isn't it?" he muttered), two being people she'd never seen before and didn't care about, and the twelfth, to her surprise, being Steve himself.

"I know so much that I fall under suspicion," he said, shrugging. "It makes sense."

"They've found out," whispered Upchuck, his pimp suit matted with sweat. "I slipped up. _They know about Rutthome Dot Org._"

"There are undiscovered tribes in the Amazon basin who know you run that," said Daria. "Don't worry, this is about uncovering whistleblowers and sending them to Room 101."

"That's what she'd _want_ me to think!"

DeMartino said nothing, but his teeth ground together like each row was trying to kill the others.

"This is total Fascism! They've got no evidence but they arrest us anyway because we don't confirm to their Fascist pig dogma!" Quinn sounded quite happy. "I'm a prisoner for my _ideals!_ Oh, and you guys too."

"My parents are going to _freak_", said Andrea hopefully. "They'll be totally pissed off. Maybe I'll get suspended?"

Daria turned away and towards the teacher. "Mr DeMartino, who's teaching History while you're here?"

His teeth ground together more.

* * *

"Now, today, I thought we'd _avoid_ such, um, uncomfortable topics as the War of 1812 and discuss something more _uplifting!_ Um, not that I'm trying to _tell_ you how you should feel about historical events, o-o-obviously indoctrinating you would be _bad_..."

"Awww man, I went to the wrong class again," said Kevin, getting out of his seat.

* * *

Daria went into Li's office first. Li sat behind her desk and stared the girl down, a computer monitor showing the Lawndale Leaks homepage.

Li said nothing and neither did Daria.

For three minutes.

Long minutes.

"Ms Morgendorffer-"

_I win_, she thought.

"-if you come clean now, your punishment will be less severe."

"You can't think I made that website. It has a lolcat photo on it."

"This school takes it _very_ seriously when someone spreads lies and half-truths about it, especially on _this_ of all weeks," hissed Li.

"Could you list the lies for me?"

"You had help, didn't you Morgendorffer? Whoever names the others will walk; do you trust your friends not to, ahem, 'snitch' on you?"

"Friends, plural? Oh, I see. You're confusing me with Quinn. She's the one outside pouring the insta-coffee in her hair."

"The website uses words that have _four or more syllables._" Li clasped her fingers together. "There's only so many students that could be behind that."

"You're admitting that the school fails to teach literacy? That seems a strange thing to do if you think I'm a whistleblower."

_That_ caught her off-guard. "Um-"

"Tell you what, we can call in my mother. You can explain the situation to her, and she can advise you on your legal options for dealing with the site.

Li paled. "This isn't over," she whispered.

"I like this school's caring atmosphere."

* * *

"Website? _Website?_ Bitch, I wouldn't be seen dead calling a website something like that, what does plumbing have to do with the school anyway?" Quinn snorted. "When I want to point out your totalitarian rat-race crap, I'm gonna spray it across your damn walls, Fascist!"

Li narrowed her eyes. "So that was _you_ last week?"

"I never said that and I got alibis! _I'M BEING FRAMED!_"

* * *

To Daria's surprise, the rest of the twelve were released early. She wondered why until she saw Andrea striding happily from the office.

"I'm suspended for the rest of the week!" she told Quinn.

"BITCHING! HIGH FIVE!"

"On the low down!"

"So you admitted to being guilty of the dastardly scheme," said Daria.

Andrea glared at her. "Mind your own business, preppy." She turned back to Quinn. "This will piss off my parents for _sure_!"

She walked away from the two, trying (and failing) not to sigh. Sometimes she felt she was wrong to dismiss the rest of the world as being irredeemable idiots, and then something like that happened.

* * *

"Ms Hecuba has to be lying," said Li. "She could not have done this alone. There's not enough swearing on the website. There are others out there, but we need them think I don't know that... Steve, you've got skills at hacking! Hack the site!"

The guard scratched his privates. "Uh, I kinda exaggerated that on my resume. I meant I'd seen Hackers once."

"Hmm. We'll have to keep an eye out then. _Nothing must disrupt Tommy Sherman's visit. NOTHING._"

* * *

After work hours:

"Ha! I reject your free markets and personal freedoms, Landon, for ah... ahn... anarcho-leninism!"

"You leather-clad bitch, I'll _show you_ the powers of capitalism in action!"

"_mmm_"

Ahem. Yes. Never mind.

* * *

At the Morgendorffers place, Jane leaned over Daria's shoulder and whistled. "That's a _lot_ of hits from Lawndale High's network IP. Up until this point..."

"That was when Li had the site blocked from the school network. You now can't access the school's _own_ website from school either, but sometimes you have to burn the village to save it from the firefighters."

"So what are you going to put up for Sherman's visit tomorrow?"

"I'll wait until afterwards, see if I get inspired. I can't wait to hear Jodie give the opening speech. The words 'America' and 'freedom' will probably crop up at least once every ten seconds."

"Hey, school's not about how hard you study, it's about how you play _football!_" Jane punched the air.

"Considering the grades in our year, we can but hope."

* * *

The next day, the security guards were clad in full riot gear and biohazard masks. Daria found herself pulled out of the queue for the entrance and over to a 'special' queue with twenty others.

"Li's worried that you're school spirit hating scum who will try to disrupt the big day," said Steve pleasantly.

"Well _duh_," said Quinn. Her schoolbag was crammed with spraypaint cans and posters with rude words.

"Please hand over your bags and you'll receive them back after Tommy Sherman has left."

"All our books and pens will be in our bags," said Daria. "We can't study without them."

"ALRIGHT!" cheered some of the students in the back.

* * *

Brittany was bent down and tying up a shoelace, lost in the soft pink fog of her thoughts, when a great clumping and clanking noise came towards her. Terrified memories of Young Frankenstein ran through her mind and she leapt up and around with a great shriek.

"Yeah, I'm great, I know," smirked the footstep's owner: huge, muscular, broken-nosed, and with large boots & jeans which seemed oddly asymmetric, like the lower half of his legs were shaped and sized differently to the top halves. "_Hello_, beautiful. I see one thing about Lawndale football has improved a lot since I was unanimously voted most valuable player: the cheerleaders!"

Brittany stared in shock as a memory finally reached her frontal lobes. "You're Tommy Sherman! Oh my god! My boyfriend's the quarterback here, he _worships_ you!"

"That's great." He glanced around. "Listen, they're putting me up at the Lawndale Manor. Why don't we head back there, order you some champagne, get horizontal, and you can find out just how _big_ a hero I am."

"Didn't you hear what I said?" asked Brittany, a slight edge to her voice. "My boyfriend is your biggest fan?"

"What, does he wants to watch? I don't know..."

It was the slap heard round the world.

" All right, all right, he can watch! Hey, where are you going? Did someone flash the bimbo signal?"

Daria had been watching the scene from down the hall. The famous Tommy Sherman was _exactly_ what she'd been expecting. God, she'd thought Kevin was bad but it seems the school was getting off lightly.

* * *

A short time later, Daria saw, again, Sherman strutting down the hall. The look of arrogance was so great that she really, _really_ wished something would happen to knock it off his fat face.

It was at that exact moment that Sherman's lower-right leg gave a piteous squeak and fell out of his jeans.

_Huh. So it turns out I'm God._

"Lousy VA crap!" swore Sherman as he just barely managed to pick up the prosthetic without falling over.

Muttered swearing filled the air as he gave a great and undignified hop to the wall so he can lean and re-attach it. A few students stared, their faces betraying an inner argument about whether they should be finding this funny.

A few seconds passed, and then Kevin and Mack walked over.

"_Tommy Sherman!_" squeed Kevin. "I'm your biggest fa-" His eyes widened. "_Holy crap Mack Daddy TOMMY SHERMAN IS A CYBORG!_"

Sherman looked round and glared like he intended to use the prosthetic as a bludgeon (cos he did).

"Something _funny_, skinny?"

Kevin paused and thought. "Ummmm... no?"

"Hi, he's the current quarterback and I'm the captain, we're both big fans," said Mack in a 'absolutely nothing has just happened honest' tone of voice. "He's Kevin, I'm Michael."

"You're kidding, right?" Sherman re-inserted his leg, no longer bothering to look at them. "Intramural squad, right?"

"Varsity, dude! I'm the _QB!_"

He laughed. After a while, so did Kevin, until Sherman asked him why and he couldn't answer. Daria, sensing insults were coming, left the corridor before she'd feel the need to stand up for Kevin (oh god, just thinking about it made her feel dirty).

On the way, she met Quinn.

"Hey, Quinn. You know, I think chalk from, say, a classroom would produce really clear text on a school wall."

"..._awesome._ Hey, can you think of any rude words that rhyme with 'football'?"

* * *

"_Every time_ I run into him, he's saying something insulting to someone," Daria ranted to Jane. "And damn it, that's my job. I don't need amateurs on my turf."

"Don't say mean things about him, or you hate our brave boys and their great sacrifices for your freedoms."

"If I can't rag on Tommy Sherman, the terrorists have won."

"They're very successful people, those terrorists. I think I can learn something from their example."

Just to add a rotting cherry onto the excrement cake, Tommy Sherman was leaning right on Daria's locker and checking out every girl that went past.

Daria sighed. "Excuse me."

He looked at her. "You're _kidding_, right? You think I'm going to talk to you?" Then he looked at Jane. "You, maybe. Like, four hours into a kegger."

"Yeah, I'd need to be unconscious for that to happen," she said, 'smiling'.

"I don't want to talk to you," said Daria.

"Yeah, right. You said, "Excuse me.""

"You're on my locker."

There was a pause. Then, he unleaned.

"Don't you know who I _am_? Tommy Sherman?"

"I know the whole school's turning itself inside out because of some egotistical football player, and I've seen you insult or proposition just about everyone you come across, so my guess is that you're the football player guy. Congratulations, you must have worked very hard to become such a colossal jerk so quickly."

Jane snickered at that.

Tommy Sherman stared at her for five long, tense seconds, before walking off.

"Huh," said Daria. "I thought he'd at least make a big deal about having goalposts named after him."

"I'd talk to you four hours into a kegger, I swear."

"Thanks, Jane. You're a true pal."

A bit later, there was a great and thunderous crash, followed by Sherman yelling "THAT ALMOST FELL ON ME!".

"No crisis, it would only have hit his head," opined Daria.

"You are _really_ pissed, and it's not just because he's a jerk."

"I'm a malcontent, I'm someone Li wants gone – telling the truth about the school is an unforgivable crime that has to be stopped. But that guy, that's _exactly_ who Li wants representing Lawndale. Trying and thinking doesn't matter as much as _winning_, because that's what makes the school look good and that's more important than _being_ good. The website's out there and being read, but can it compete with goalposts and a guy who can pick up a ball? Will anyone think 'Sherman was a jerk' this time next week, or will it all be 'hey, he threw a ball better than another guy, he was great' again?"

Jane stayed silent throughout the outburst.

"Wow, Daria," she said. "Tell us how you really feel."

"I guess I'm just feeling a bit disillusioned – well, more disillusioned." She sighed. "I should focus on some good things. My cousin-in-law has reached the dizzying heights of attempting an exam, maybe he's turned a corner."

* * *

Across town, in a quiet hall filled with quiet people writing, Brian glanced at the clock – twenty minutes in now – and then at the question that was puzzling him. He chewed idly on the pen and then looked again at the last thing he'd answered.

"Name: Brian Danielson"

Finding no clues there, he turned back to question one.

* * *

"...and so achievements like Sherman's embody the true ideals of America, of the freedoms..."

"That's seven times now," muttered Jane to Daria.

The assembly was very, very dull, basically. There had been some suggestion of excitement early but Quinn had been 'escorted' from the gymnasium.

"...telling us to make it our goal to make others feel good, and when we reach that goal we keep running until we hit the goal post." Jodie thumped the stand. "And hit it _hard!_ God bless America."

"Come back, Soviet Union, all is forgiven," muttered Daria.

Then, horror of horrors, it was time for Tommy Sherman to take the stand. He coughed into the microphone and surveyed the audience.

"Man, that was one boring speech, wasn't it? You didn't come here to listen to that, you came for _Tommy Sherman!_ Yeah, I don't blame you, I could listen to me all the time! State championship, man – you're all thinking, wow! I'll never do anything half as cool as that! Yeah, it's awesome and so was I, everyone loves a star quarterback. _Literally_ with the babes, am I right?

"Anyway, that's just the first step in the road of Tommy Sherman! State championship and then the army, right up against the Taliban YEAH! I know you're all thinking that I coulda written my ticket anywhere so why I join up with our boys, and I don't blame you! After all, the only reason I did was because I couldn't get into college."

Daria sat right up at that. And, she saw, so did Li.

"Man, who knew colleges wanted _grades_, right? Sure, I got a load of byes on pretty much every test and class, but that still leaves me with a C Minus average and those college punks, man, it was like they could _sense_ byes. Too late to apply for a football scholarship by then, I mean why'd I think I needed it? But hey, army: kill terrorists and be cool! The ads made it look so awesome!

"_Two months_ driving around a desert being bored and then my _legs_ get fucking blown off, how am I supposed to play football with no legs, huh? Can't even play one of the pussy sports like cricket with fake legs! You know how _hard_ it is trying to get a job with a C Minus high school diploma and being a cripple? Let's not even go into health insurance, if not for Veteran Affairs, Tommy Sherman would be up Shit Creek."

The whole gymnasium looked very uncomfortable, like a mass hearing the Pope describe how he'd realised there was no God. Li seemed to have retreated into herself. Daria... well, she'd started taking notes.

"That's what happened to me as the quarterback at this school: everyone let me be dumb so I couldn't get anywhere after I'd won the championship for them. Man, there was this butt-ugly misery chick earlier and she _didn't care who I was_, she even _cut me down_: that never happened to me in school, but that's how far down I've come since high school, not even the Velma's want me!

"I was going to come here and tell myself 'hey, Tommy Sherman, they're dedicating goal posts to you, you're their hero!' but I saw this website last night, Lawndale Likes or Looks or something last, and that made me think: no, screw that goalpost, man! It's a goalpost, not even a whole stadium! That's all they got for you, Tommy Sherman! This school uses people like me up and doesn't care afterwards, if I'd got myself a _C_ diploma I'd probably be in college and entering the big leagues right now!

"You dorks need to know this stuff before you get eaten alive.

"Oh yeah, and Mr O'Neill's still here? Dude's a pussy! What the hell, man?"

Tommy Sherman strode off the stage, and as he went Daria gave a lone, rhythmic clap.

* * *

Quinn was _pissed_ when she found out what she missed.

"Fuck's sake! That's like missing Sid Vicious punching his first fan out! What do I do when the rest of the gang talks about it?"

"Punch someone," said Daria.

"Hey, yeah! You can actually be cool sometimes, Daria!"

"I was jok... oh, what the hell."

On the way out of school, Daria saw Tommy Sherman standing by the side of the road, looking at the building with a glare that spoke of hate and regret. She looked at him for a second, then walked over.

"Hey, um... That was a really insightful and articulate outburst."

"Oh, it's _you_. Haven't you got some self-harm to do or whatever the crap you emo's do?"

"No, I'm serious. You actually, and I can't believe I'm saying this either, inspired me there."

Tommy Sherman looked horrified. "You're a _brain_! I wasn't trying to reach _you!_ Jesus, what a waste."

_Hurm. Well, Hunter S. Thompson was a jerk too..._

"Well, you never know who you're going to reach. The important thing is you do."

Daria walked on, leaving the man behind.

THE END


	13. Art of Darkness

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**

**Ep 13: Art of Darkness**

Last week, Brian Danielson had actually attempted to _do_something, but now reality was back on track: a sleepy Daria lurched into the kitchen for breakfast to find her cousin's fiancée had just failed at his real estate exam.

"Yeah, well, what do those _exam_ people know anyway, except the _standard answers!_" Jake said loudly, thumping the table. "You're _beyond_ them, Brian! They can't understand you! You're _Gallipoli!_"

Brian, confused, looked to Daria for help. "Erm, was that right?"

Daria thought briefly about the horrible Gallipoli Campaign that scarred and sickened everyone involved.

"Yes, it was a very insightful and accurate comment."

"Ah. Cool!" He flexed his muscles. "Anyway, wasn't _that_bad a result – I came this close, I'll nail it next time!"

"He came last in _the whole world,_" Quinn gleefully informed Daria.

"Don't worry Brian, I'm certain you'll become a soulless corporate suit tricking families out of their money," said Helen.

Daria looked at Erin, noticing the silence. "So what do _you_think about all this, Erin?"

The young woman looked up, a look of absolute guilt on her face. "Nothing happened!"

"A harsh but fair comment."

In a normal family situation, this would lead to extreme awkwardness. Instead, Quinn belched loudly and both Helen and Jake cheered.

* * *

Li was not having a good week. Lawndale Leaks had spread around, especially after that _debacle_ with Tommy Sherman (she'd quickly deleted him from all the school's records, which prompted _questions_ from the local media for some reason). The _journalists_ were sniffing around now, and with that came the greatest of threats: the Superintendent of Schools might _ask about funding issues._

Laaaawndale High was a carefully balanced ecosystem. Everything was in its place and worked like an oiled clock, all to keep the school stable, safe, and under-budget. That way, its primary goal could be achieved: keeping her employed and giving her a lovely, lovely "pension" account in the Cayman Islands.

She had to keep attention off the school. She needed to get _good_attention back.

Unfortunately, that meant... that meant...

"I'm going to be sick."

* * *

Art Class was one of the better classes at Lawndale. Ms Defoe was both competent _and_ cared about the subject; it gave Daria a chance to be creative (and to watch Jane at work, and she _worked_); and there was a chance that Kevin would eat some paint and have to go to hospital.

Normally, however, Ms Li wasn't in class. Now she was. This _dramatically_reduced the quality of Art.

"Please tell me we're not doing a figure painting," Daria muttered to Jane.

"Don't say that to me, say it to the Lord above. And quickly, while He can still act."

"He helps those who help themselves. Time to resort to murder."

"Ms Li has some intriguing news!" said Defoe, beaming.

"Laaaawndale High is participating in a state-wide art contest," said Li, definitely not beaming. "The theme of the contest is Student Life in 2011."

"What's it like to be a student in today's fast-changing, complex world!"

"And..." Li looked like she was going to vomit; Daria was briefly worried this meant the cafeteria was serving Mystery Meat again. "And... _And..._"

"And the subject can be anything! Any topic, any medium, anything however edgy – there's total freedom for all involved!"

The principal nodded, and a brief, broken sob came from her lips.

"Entry is voluntary, of course, but I'd urge you _all_ to take this opportunity." Defoe punched the air. "Shake things _up!_" (She later lowered the fist, looking embarrassed)

After Li ran out, looking horrified at what had just happened, Brittany squeaked: "I've got a _great_idea for a poster!"

"Me, too," said Daria. "Mine's going to be about cheerleading."

"Oh, _no_! Now what'll _I _do?

Kevin raised his hand. "Can we do paintings about quarterbacks?"

"You can do any subject you desire," said Defoe. And when Kevin didn't respond, she said: "Yes, you can paint quarterbacks."

"Cool!"

"Li's letting us do anything?" Daria remarked to Jane. "She must be in a really desperate place. Every edgy painting must be like toilet paper made out of broken glass for her. Suddenly, I'm interested in participating in things."

Utter silence.

"Jane?"

Jane looked like a Wall Street executive who'd died and gone to Scrooge McDuck's Money Bin.

"Oh. Silly me."

"_We can draw anything,_" she whispered. "This is my orgasm face."

"The earth moved for me too."

* * *

Daria and Tom found themselves drafted after school: Daria was locked into Jane's room and forced to brainstorm ideas, while Tom was tasked to bring up paint, supplies, canvasses, food, water, an empty bottle, and a radio so Jane could last the whole night.

"I don't leave until it's _done!_" she yelled.

"As long as I can," said Daria.

"I don't need friends, I'll have paint and stale cookies." Jane tapped an empty canvas. "Come on, Daria. Gimme suggestions. You're the most negative person I knows! Your negativity seeps into all around you!"

"She's not wrong," said Tom, dumping another box in the room.

"You can always date Brittany if you need a more positive girlfriend."

"I'll be good."

After Tom left, Daria snarked: "Draw Kevin and Brittany, and the text 'America's Future'."

"That… That could _work_."

"Crap! No, no, go for something less sickening, like… like something about anorexia, a pretty girl puking up to maintain her figure. That'll be _much_less sickening."

"Hmmm. STDs?"

"Now we're back to Kevin and Brittany again. Why restrict yourself to one horrible subject anyway? You have five canvasses."

Jane went back into orgasm face.

"…it was a joke?"

* * *

On the way out of the house, Daria and Tom spotted a _new fridge_in the Lane's kitchen. Confused ("Did a very charitable burglar break in?"), she wandered down into Trent's bedroom where he was practicing (read: snoozing).

"Trent? Um… there's a fridge. A clean one."

He yawned and looked over. "Hmmm? Oh, yeah. With the money the band's making, I thought I should. Y'know. Buy one."

"But you've still got the old fridge, the one that the CDC has marked as an extreme hazard."

"Hey, I don't want to forget where I came from."

"That didn't make sense until I remembered I was talking to you."

Erin was late coming in from work again, and looked both flushed and hunted. Daria looked at her for a few seconds, then shrugged and turned to the phone.

She'd been calling her grandmother in secret, and vice versa, since last Christmas. She figured the lady would be interested in hearing about the art contest. So would Aunt Amy, but she'd do Gran first: it'd been a few days since they last chatted.

"Hey. It's your second-favourite granddaughter."

"Daria! I was just going to call you – but you go first, by all means."

"School's taking part in a state art competition, and the principal is allowing us to do _anything we want_. We see Halley's Comet more often than this. This may be a bright new dawn for Lawndale High, or at least a new coat of paint."

"Are you taking part yourself?"

"I've helped a friend, sort of. Well, I watched while they got started." Daria shrugged. "I can't wait to see what they'll do."

"Well, as long as your contemporaries don't take liberties with the contest. Your friend isn't the type of girl to do shock value work for the sake of shock value, is she?"

"I take the fifth."

"Oh. Well, as long as you don't encourage her…"

The conversation had drifted into uncomfortable waters. Quickly, Daria said: "Oh, Brian's exam results came in."

"Ah." Grandma Barksdale sounded wary. "How did it go?"

"It's Brian. Nuff said."

A groan came over the line. "What in the hell was Erin thinking… At least you're being more sensible with your affairs, Daria." A slight chuckle. "That was bad phrasing…"

"Yeah, I haven't got round to sleeping with his best friend yet."

"Don't be obscene," she laughed. "Dear, oh dear… Still, Angier Sloane's son! Him and your grades, you're doing remarkably well considering the school you've been placed in. It's a pity your parents never went for full-time careers, you could flourish in a private school."

Daria paused before speaking, remembering everything Tom had said about Fielding – the bad outweighed the good, but the bad was always spoken of with _longing_, like it was part of the experience and of less import. And the stuff said about the teaching…

"I guess so," she said finally. "Parts of it sound interesting. But I'm doing okay where I am."

"You deserve better than 'okay', Daria."

Another uncomfortable direction. "Um…"

"Quinn, we're not capitalist scum, don't stay on the phone _too_ lo-" Helen entered the lounge and jumped at the sight of Daria. "Oh, I'm sorry Daria, I heard someone having a phone conversation and assumed… Well _damn it_, you don't socialise often! I have no shame here!"

Daria smiled. "Ah, the family unit, that great source of self esteem." She turned back to the phone. "You may have guessed that was Mum, unless you thought something strange had happened to Dad."

There was a hesitation on the other end of the line. Finally, nervously, her grandmother said: "Could you put Helen on please?"

Again, unexpected.

"I… I want to talk to her."

Daria swallowed and handed the phone over. "Mum? It's… it's for you."

Her mother took the phone and in two seconds her face became contorted with rage, but after that Daria wasn't looking anymore. She was running upstairs to grab the extension. She could already hear the screaming from downstairs but she had to – she _needed_ to – hear the full conversation.

"—gall, the _fucking gall_—"

"Helen, please, I just-"

"Shut the FUCK UP, you monstrous _bitch_! Did I not make it clear to you ten years ago, you weren't to shit your poison into my daughter – MY DAUGHTER, damn your eyes, you try to come at _my daughter_ and fucking pull the same old, and now—"

"She's my granddaughter and you're _my_ daughter and I don't want this…. this gulf between us!" she pleaded, clearly crying. "I realise I didn't handle things properly before-"

"Handle? Fucking _handle?_" Her mother sounded more vicious than Daria could ever remember, something she'd never heard before and never wanted to again. "Christ's sake, do you even _know_ what you did wrong, really? You fucked up as a mum, you fucked up as a grandmother, you think I want you fucking up again? No! No, I do not!"

"I'm _sorry_ for all of that! But it was ten years, Helen – I've started to-"

"Don't give a shit! Ten years, piss on that, you had over thirty years to sort yourself out and it never damn happened, I'm not going to play your games again! And don't you fucking dare call this number again, never contact my fucking daughter – you don't get to wreck her, _get me?_"

"_I'm_ ruining her? Helen, for the love of _God_-"

"Ha! Yeah, drop the poor-old-woman act, let's see the real Edie fucking Barksdale-"

Daria slammed the phone back on the receiver (she doubted her mother would notice) and left the house. She was halfway down the street before she realised she had no idea where she was walking _to_. Jane… Jane was busy and happy; she didn't want to drag her friend down when she was on such a high.

She checked and found she had kept her phone in her skirt pocket; taking a calming breath, she dialled Tom's number.

"Could you… could you pick me up, please?" Pause. "No, I'm not."

* * *

Daria hadn't said one word during the drive to his house. That wasn't normal. Daria was _never_quiet, not since the early days when she couldn't handle his wealth. Tom was concerned.

When they entered the house, the Fashion Club was already present: an emergency session was underway about pre-empting the spring shoes. Four pairs of eyes glanced over at the pair with horror.

"_El_sie," said Sandi with suspicion, "just what is your brother doing with... with Thingy?"

"Daria," said Stacy.

Sandi snapped round. "_How_do you know a brain's name?"

"Er... er... I... don't know?"

Sandi gave her a long, probing stare, before turning back to the embarrassed Elsie: "Well?"

"I didn't know anything about anything, I swear," she lied, badly.

Daria immediately kissed Tom. "Oh Tom, your manly charms are so great that I cannot restrain myself any longer. Please, promise me that in your room you shall make me scream to the world about your genetic jackhammer."

"Sure, why not?"

"You are a smooth talker, my boyfriend who I am dating."

They strode upstairs, and the Fashion Club stared in horror. Elsie started to shrink in on herself, hoping against hope that Sandi would buy her lies.

"You should have warned us in advance, Elsie," said Sandi, pissing on hope's chips. "We can't allow this. We need to take _steps_."

* * *

Hidden in the shadows of the dank Phoenix bar, her face disguised and her cameras concealed, Amy Barksdale was watching the Five-A-Side Gang as they carried out their deal. _Delinquent Quintuplets, next on Sick, Sad World,_ she thought to herself. _He-llooooooo, bonus._

The sounds of the Imperial March rang through the bar; sighing, she took out her phone and checked which sister was calling. "Yo, Hellion."

"Tell me you didn't know Mother was talking to Daria!"

Amy paused, just a bit too long. "Er, this isn't the best ti-"

"Thought so. Why the hell didn't you tell me? It's _Mother_!"

"I talked to her about it but I wasn't going to snitch on my niece unless it was absolutely necessary."

"You didn't think _this_ was necessary, when you know what she did? Fucking hell, Amy, you know what she did to Daria back when, you _know_-"

"I'm. Not. Snitching." Amy took a deep breath. "Look, Daria's a smart girl, smart enough to realise when someone's taking her for a ride."

Pause. "Mother claims she wants to make amends. Has she phoned you about that?"

_Hell._"Yes. Yes she did. Earlier today. I hung up on her. I didn't... I didn't think she'd be phoning you as well, I swear."

"For such a fucking brain, you never were good at actually _thinking_, were you?"

"Better at it than you are at looking out for your own daughter." Amy turned her phone off the instant she'd finished the sentence and downed her drink in one go. _Every time, every fucking time..._

* * *

Tom had hoped, after the display downstairs, that Daria was now back to normal (and partly hoped she'd meant it about the jackhammer thing), but now she lay sprawled on his bed, eyes shut, dead to the world. This was the part of dating Daria that he wasn't comfortable with. She was smart and funny and seemed to be a figure that could stand against anything, and then you had to deal with the weaknesses inside.

"My mother spoke to my gran," she said suddenly. "It didn't go very well."

"Oh."

"Yeah." She fell silent again, then: "Mum has never spoken like that around me. It didn't sound like her at all. It _frightened_ me, there was so much... _bile_, and I couldn't stand that she was saying it to Gran."

Tom said nothing. That wasn't what his role was here.

"I know what she did, but that was years ago. Neither Mum nor Aunt Amy are willing to even _consider_that she might have changed, that she might just be lonely and old and wanted to fix what she's broken." She bowed her head. "And to be honest, I've started to wonder if it was Gran that did all the breaking."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. "I can call and tell your parents that you're staying over the night. Probably should tell my parents as well-"

"I wouldn't bother. It's not like they worry when one of us is out late."

He didn't know how to answer that.

"Could you, um..." She sounded nervous, just like when they'd danced around the fact that they wanted to go out. "Could you hold me? Please?"

He did.

* * *

Jane gulped down her fifth cup of coffee, and then slashed away onto the canvas. The effect wasn't what she was going for, and she stepped back to think it over.

Then she threw some coffee onto it.

"Now _that's_more like it!"

* * *

The Sloane's guest bedroom was the very model of the latest fashions, but in a tasteful, refined way that must have cost a fortune. If Daria had cared about such things, she may have been impressed by how with-it the Sloanes were, but she instead thought that if they wanted to make people think that, Angier needed to stop wearing those bug-ugly sweaters.

She'd slept the sleep of the tired, and didn't remember her dreams in the morning.

Breakfast was _incredible_. Two courses, all cooked, on china plates and eaten with cleanliness, manners, and decorum. She'd started to sing Handel's Messiah but nobody else had got the joke. (Elsie was scowling at her, but she considered that a positive thing)

"So, Daria, are you entering this art contest?" asked Kay, remarkably not eating while she spoke. "Tom's thinking of entering – well, I _say_that, but whenever we ask him what he intends to draw..."

"For some reason, they don't believe I'm serious when I say it'll be a picture of me wearing a suit and stealing money from the hands of poor students," said Tom. "But I ask you, what greater challenge faces them in the year 2011?"

"You could photocopy an exam and stick that on a canvas," said Daria.

"I dunno, I was never into modern art."

"We're old money, we don't like modern things," said Angier.

"I was going to say that," said Daria.

* * *

Tom had to drive Elsie to school as well as Daria – the Sloanes thought their children would get along better if they were cooped up in an enclosed metal space – and she spent the whole journey glaring at the outcast's head. When the car reached Lawndale and Tom was outside getting everyone's bags out of the trunk, she finally hissed out a warning:

"This _won't stand_, Morgendorffer. Brains can't be allowed to date rich, important people. _And not the siblings of popular people._"

"Yeah, that way you judge people and show them contempt, I'm sure that makes you beloved."

"We'll take action!" Elsie got out of the car, quickly before anyone could see her talking to Daria. "_Action!_"

When Tom came back (wondering why Elsie had gone off without her bag), Daria told him: "If we make out in this car, it'll really piss off your sister."

"Sold!"

* * *

Art Class was second period. In it, Brittany was proudly showing off her Don't Join A Gang painting.

"Brittany... all I see is the gang," said Ms Defoe gently.

Brittany thought for a second, took out her lipstick, drew a red 'no' symbol over the stick figures, and smiled expectantly. Defoe just moved on to Daria.

"Daria, have you seen Ja-"

The door burst open and Jane came in, carrying a _sack_of paintings and wearing a half-crazed expression. "I'M AWAKE!"

"That was unwise," replied Daria.

Jane started to place her paintings anywhere where they could fit: she'd done six, though one was a mass of random colours caused by fatigue. Another showed a skinny, attractive girl, looking into a mirror with sadness, her reflection being fat and ugly; another had a glittery, too-perfect romantic scene of a couple, and another scene 'tearing' through it of a letter about a HIV infection; a fourth painting was Lawndale High ravaged by climate change and pollution (the pollution looking oddly like coffee)...

The fifth showed Kevin and Brittany, and the words "AMERICA'S FUTURE!".

"Alriiiiiiight!" cheered Kevin.

The sixth showed a teenager with their face covered, stuck in a box and watched by cameras. Jane had clearly been getting frazzled by then, because every part of it was distorted and sharp-angled and the colours were angry shades. Daria stared at it for a good few seconds.

"Yeah, I like that one too," Jane told her. "It's about how students are forced into things and told how to behave."

Daria stared at it again, and was about to say exactly how she felt about it when she realised she was in public. "I like it too," was all she said.

* * *

Jane would go on to be _half_of Lawndale's entries into the contest. Her piece on body images won First Place.

"No To Drugs" by Brittany Taylor got Second Place.

Three of the judges got $400 apiece from Mr Taylor's bank account.

THE END


	14. Splatoon

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 14: Splatoon**

The History, Language Arts, and Science classes of two grades were going on a field trip to Jim's Paintballing Jungle: hours upon hours of crawling around in mud and wiping your bum with leaves while everyone would try to shoot you in the face. Luckily for Daria, Li required their parents to sign a twelve-page waiver (in triplicate) that would keep Lawndale High free from culpability if any injury, up to and including having a paintball gun fired directly down their throat, occurred.

And _that_ was the ultimate out.

"Hey, Mum – there's this form school wants you to sign-"

Helen looked at the document like it was a dead rat, then grabbed it, pulled out a lighter, and set it on fire.

"Fuck their rules and regs! _Fuck 'em!_"

"The slogan is still '_wouldn't_ piss on him if they were on fire', right?" asked a worried Daria.

"Oh come on, Daria, those stains never come out of the carpet," she said, dropping the fiery papers into the bin (setting fire to all the rubbish). "Was there anything else?"

"No, but I think there will be soon," said her daughter, looking at the rising smoke.

Quinn ran past into the kitchen, pausing only to yell: "Oh yeah, Mum, I just forged your signature on some shit, so I'll be out shooting the cheerleaders in the face on Thursday."

"That's nice, honey. By the way, have either of you girls heard from your cousin Erin? I have no idea if she's in for dinner or not."

"But mother, why on Earth would she want to avoid our company?"

The smoke alarm began to go off. From upstairs came a great scream of: "Oh god, the air raid sirens! GOD FUCKING DAMN IT, THE MAN FINALLY DID IT **DAMN THEM TO HELL!**"

* * *

In Andrew Landon's office, the most unlikely mid-coitus words were uttered:

"Accept trickle-down theories, bitch! _Accept them!_"

"Trickle-down is correct! Trickle-down is correct! Ohhhh-"

Then a ringing phone spoiled the mood, more so when a terrified Andrew said into it: "Oh hi, honey! No, no, I'm sorry, work's on top of me again…"

Erin, below Andrew, tried to pretend she couldn't hear anything. (She'd been trying that at the Morgendorffers ever since she'd moved in but it hadn't worked yet.)

* * *

Trendee's was indeed trendy: the hip, happening club for hip, happening kids with money. So of course, since 2008 it had been hanging on to life by a thread with massive cuts being made to everything and two attempted suicides by the owner. Sandi's war council stood out like a sore thumb because it was a group of more than three people, but she couldn't hold a meeting in a coffee shop or, worse, _that club with the Z name._

"I want to thank you all for coming," she said, surveying the gathered girls from the head of the table (a round table, but she thought of it as the head). "You all know the problem we face."

"Um, not really," squeaked Brittany. "That's why we came here, to find out why we were coming here."

"That could have been worded better, but she's essentially correct," said Jodie. "You've been acting mysterious about the whole thing."

"Like, a sense of drama adds to the mood." Sandi cleared her throat. "All of seven of you are important players in Lawndale's upper hierarchy-"

"We're really popular," explained Angie to Brittany.

"-and we all have a vested interest in it staying as it is. Especially you, Tori."

The shapely blonde Tori Jericho nodded. "I don't want to have to redo all my popularity pie charts." She wasn't joking.

"And right now, we have, like, a _total threat_ to the established order."

The girls leaned in.

"_Daria Morgendorffer is dating Tom Sloane_."

There was a pause.

"Who?" asked Siobhan, a brunette senior in the track team (nicknamed "Chipmunk" for her two hair buns that resembled ears, but not to her face).

"Sloane as in _the_ Sloanes?"

"Oh, _him._" She scratched her head. "And…"

"That brain with the glasses and the green-"

"Good _Christ_, I see what you mean!" She looked absolutely terrified. "This is bad. Very bad."

Jodie looked around the table with annoyance. "I'm sorry, this is _it_? I'm missing Glenn Beck to hear everyone freak out because one misanthrope is dating another misanthrope? This is stupid."

"A _rich_ misanthrope," said Tori, as if discussing North Korea's nuclear arsenal. "He has some social weight to him. And if he starts taking her to high-class social events, goes with her to Chez Pierre, _buys her some proper clothes_… God, she should become sort-of popular. Or worse, it'll stop that sort of thing being a popular thing! And then the unpopular will think they're as good as the popular! Oy _vey_!"

"Daria's got a boyfriend?" exclaimed Brittany happily. "Wow! Good for her, maybe it'll make her start smiling."

Angie gently asked Brittany to get her a drink, then turned to the others once she was gone and said: "Okay, I'll represent the cheerleaders from now on."

"Excellent," said Sandi. "We need to put Daria in her place before it is too late. We have to scare her away from Tom."

Jodie got out of her seat and walked off, muttering "how did you even get my cell number?".

Flowing-haired shapely Winona, representing the drama and music students who weren't losers, muttered: "The paintball on Thursday. We'll all be armed – except Chipmu-"

"**What?"**

"-except _Siobhan_, who's not in that grade – and so will our friends. We can ambush and _obliterate_ Daria. Show her what she's up against."

Sandi smiled, a dreadful sight. "Excellent, Winona. Just what I was thinking."

"You were not," snorted Angie.

"This Thursday, we show her. We show that brain what happens when you don't stick to your place…"

* * *

"So you're not coming with?" asked Jane, as the Lawndale students headed for the bus.

"Nah, no permission," said Daria, smiling. "Looks like a day at the school library without any human contact for me."

_Oh darn,_ thought Sandi.

* * *

"So it's decided," growled Quinn. "No matter what teams we're in, we form a third faction and paint the _shit_ out of _everyone else_."

At the back of the bus, the Maleficent Eleven swore their agreements on a copy of a tattoo magazine.

* * *

No English class meant self-study. That meant going into the library on her own and reading whatever she wanted. Daria, deciding to stretch herself, had got the library copy of Ulysses (never touched by student hands) and was making a go of it. Partway through the first chapter, she started to take notes.

"Only _one_of us is walking away unread this time," she told it.

_This is great. I wonder how Jane and Tom are doing?_

* * *

"Okay, so let's say it's Mack's turn," said Kevin loudly. "He says, "I never went steady with two people at the same time." And then Tom, if you never went steady with two people at the same time, then you don't take a drink."

"We're on a bus," said Tom. "All we have to drink is the grease in Upchuck's hair."

" But I, like, _have_gone steady with two people at the same time, so I do take a drink. Get it?"

Brittany snapped round, her nostrils flaring.

" Um... uh... I mean..."

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens!" said Angie desperately, trying for the girl's 'off switch'.

As the bus passed another sign advertising The Great White Shark, Jane pressed her face against the window.

"Jaws _why have you forsaken me?_"

* * *

At lunch, Daria sat at the Fashion Club's table and deliberately put her boots on one of the seats. After a few second's thought, she scribbled "an unpopular girl was here" on the table in neat handwriting.

Even the food was marginally more edible.

"This is the best day of school ever," she said to the half-empty canteen. "I wonder if Quinn's turned on anyone yet?"

* * *

Upchuck gargled in pain as a paintball went into his mouth.

_"Right flank attack, bearing 300 degrees!"_screamed Brittany, taking cover behind a tree. "Barch, Jane: break and fire on my signal! Tom, Andrea, back to flag and conceal to support Joey – Nikki, clear shellshock victims!"

Nikki nodded and began to roll the weeping, foetal-position O'Neill off the battlefield.

**"BREAK BREAK!"**

Brittany and her two soldiers fired off a series of irregular bursts in a triangulated position, being rewarded by someone yelling "OW!". As she fired, the commander ran through the scenario: most of Red Team had dispersed into two-man groups with a random spread, ready to harass and wear down Blue Team, with a three-prong consolidation around Blue Flag to begin within the next hour. She'd known Blues would reach Red Flag and was prepared for that, but _this_fast? Something else had to be going on...

Back at the flag, its three defenders crouched behind its rock, Andrea stood up and shot both boys in the general groin area ("OW!"), grabbed the flag, and ran off with it.

"Infiltration!" screamed Brittany. "Jane, _intercept run!_"

"Moo hoo ha ha."

* * *

**"AAHHHHH HA HA HAAAAAA!"**roared DeMartino as he fired two paintball guns at once. He'd been hit twice but hadn't noticed yet.

Mack tried to provide covering fire, and glared down at the girls next to him. "Uh, _help?_"

"Please, this outfit is _new_," sniffed Sandi.

"We're not endangering ourselves for _your war!_" screamed Winona, with admittedly superb dramatic delivery. "No more of that, you blood-steeped puppet masters! No more!"

"What she said, I guess." Sandi sighed. "We came _this_ close to getting Daria. Now we're going to have to think of something else, and god not _another_meeting..."

"What now?" asked Mack.

"Tt. We're not _talking_to you."

"If only we could do it some other time," said Winona, hands pressed together. "After all, if we'd done it here, she could fire back, but..."

Sandi began to smile. "Just what _I_ was thinking _too_, Wi_no_na dear. I have a—" She glared at Mack, who was staring at them. "Guh, you are so RUDE!"

The boy would have replied but he was hit from a new angle by paint. The girls looked in horror to see Quinn and Shaggy had outflanked their position and had them locked.

"I surrender! _This outfit is new!_"

Quinn immediately fired.

* * *

"And now it's written like a play script." Daria glared at the book. "If you want to disorient _me_, you're going to have to try harder than that. I'm around my family on a daily basis. This suitor is going to eat your food and get away with it, Ulysses."

It was raining outside but she was toasty and warm indoors. Soon, the school would end and then it'd be back home for microwave pizza and Sick, Sad World. What a great day.

* * *

Both Red and Blue Team had united to retake the 'Hanoi Hilton', the only piece of shelter in the whole damn Paintball Jungle. (There were some tents but _someone_had nicked them) But with the Maleficent Eleven in a well-defended position, things were going badly.

"You're only making this hard on yourselves!" yelled Principal Li. "If you behave yourselves and cease this now then-"

She was coated from head to toe.

"I _trusted_ you, damn it!" screamed Barch, firing at close range on the monstrous and smugly dry Dave, her mind's eye elsewhere entirely. "Two decades of legal slavery and still you throw it all away for a halter top and a pair of pumps! _A pair of pumps!_"

Unnoticed in the back, Stacy moved her gun from one side to the other as she became increasingly confused about whose side she was on. (With both personalities in conflict, she finally went with her third personality and then started to hyperventilate because _this wasn't Oakwood how did she get here_)

"Time for a frontal charge!" yelled Kevin. "YAAAAAH-" and then he slipped on a puddle and fell over.

In the Hilton, Andrea barked: "I'm out!" Then she punched Koichi and took his gun. "I'm okay now!"

"_I want to seeeeee ANAR-CHY!_" cheered Quinn, spattering Jeffy. "Hey, Shaggy, betcha I can get a headshot on Tom there!"

Shaggy replied only with a strangled gasp; when Quinn turned to look, the slacker was falling to his knees, red trickling down his throat. Behind him, a red-tipped paintbrush in hand – _and how did she get into the first floor?_– was a blonde-pigtailed figure of death.

"Hiiiiiii_YAAA!_"

* * *

"Did Obama _start_the birthers... to cover up his origins in a hippy commune cloning lab? Transgressive progressives, now on Sick, Sad World!"

Daria sighed happily. All she needed now was to learn that Li had only three months to live.

* * *

"Well, that was fun," said Tom to his sister as they neared the buses.

"SHUT UP AND DIE."

_And that was really fun_, he thought.

As the paint-splatted, rain-soaked Elsie squelched towards the bus, Sandi got behind her and muttered: "So, _El_-sie, how quickly can you get your hands on some of these paintball guns?"

Elsie saw those gang people, 'Burnout Girl' and Dave, lurching to the bus, and said to them: "Sixty bucks if you steal the paintball guns."

Burnout and Dave immediately headed back to the Jungle.

"In about ten minutes," she told Sandi.

* * *

"There's a Doggie Heaven… but is there a Doggie _Purgatory?_A Sick, Sad World panel discussion, coming up next!"

Daria lounged back in the sofa with her bowl of Doritos. Behind her, ignored, the paint-wracked and rain-struck figure of Quinn entered the house, screaming: "It's so _unfair_! I can't wash this out _without washing the hair dye out too!_"

"Awwww. How dare they fight back when attacked."

"Shut up, Daria," said Quinn in a blaze of wit.

"So the paintball trip was-"

* * *

"—_A TOTAL DISASTER!_" roared DeMartino, punching the school wall in fury. "_OW MY HAND!_"

"Like _I_ ever expected anything different!" sneered Barch. "That's what happens when a _man_tries to oversee a school trip!"

"The INSTIGATOR of the PAINTSHED was a WOMAN! And YOU failed TOO, you VACUOUS HARPY!"

"Testosterone-addled aging _failure!_"

"NOBODY is using the JANITOR'S CLOSET!"

"You _disgust_ me!" Pause. "Well come _on_, then!"

* * *

Mack had agreed to walk his girlfriend Angie home, which was normal. His silence… well, that wasn't normal. It wasn't the right kind of silence, where he wasn't entirely sure what to say that she'd 'get'. This was the silence when someone was wondering whether to press that red button.

"So… Angie…"

"I found the paintball gun somewhere else!" she lied loudly.

He looked at her, confused. "What paintball gun?"

"…er. I don't know?"

"Never mind. So I overheard Sandi Griffin and Winona talking about doing something to Daria Morgendorffer, and I was wondering you had any idea what's going on there."

"Oh, that's easy," she said, happy to have a simple answer to give. "A bunch of us are going to get together and attack her later tonight. Y'know, over that whole 'dating a Sloane' thing."

When Mack spoke again, it was in a low, deliberate tone: "You're not joking."

"Erm, no?"

"And why are you doing this."

"Oh Mack, you're so dumb sometimes. Unpopular girl dating rich guy? _Unpopular girl_ dating _rich guy_? Geez, let's just say everyone's equal and be done with it, like that guy… erm… y'know, the Marx brother who had a huge beard?"

The silence was unnerving her.

"What?"

* * *

"Right!" barked Siobhan, jabbing at the twilight-lit park with her paintball gun. "If we hide between these bushes _here_ and _here_, by emerging we can cut off Whatsername from retre-"

Sandi glared. "And ex_cuse_ me, but who put _you_in charge?"

"Well, I'm older than you."

"But you're wearing _stretch pants_."

"Whoa, Sandi's right!" said Winona. "Sorry, Shiv."

"_They're leggings!_"

"Bitch, please," said Elsie Sloane, "that excuse is older than _glam rock._"

"Yeah, and nobody would like glam rock! Ahahaha!" laughed Winona nervously.

Before anyone could ask why she was nervous, Angie arrived. Her eyes were red and her breathing hoarse, and none of the other girls was sure if they should say something.

"Can we just _do_this?" she said, angry and bitter.

* * *

Daria walked into the kitchen, allegedly for food but really to hear the conversation between Brian and Helen:

"So, erm… the exam asked a few _tricky_questions about real estate law, and…"

"_Ha!_ Blood-sucking, fascist bastards, creating a legal system that benefits the _rich_ and _themselves!_"

Brian, hurriedly scribbling notes: "Wait, how do you spell 'Fascist'?"

"F-A…"

Daria's phone rang. Immediately she exited the kitchen – her first instinct was that Grandma Barksdale was calling, and she could not, _would_not, take that call in her mother's presence and risk the same horror as before.

To her surprise, the call was from a number she didn't recognise.

"You've reached the offices of Professionals Incorporated: if you want someone's leg broken, please press one. For a general beating, press two. For contract killings-"

"Daria?" asked the suspicious voice of Elsie Sloane. "Your voice mail is _weird_-"

"Hi, Elsie. Aren't you slumming it by calling here?"

"Obviously. But… look, I need to talk to you, it's about Tom. Can you get to the park within half an hour?"

She sighed. "Fine."

She hung up before the conversation could go on any longer (_Tom, if I find out she got my number from your phone…_), and the instant she did the house phone rang. Her cousin Erin answered it, and quickly passed it to Daria, saying it was for her: a guy called Mack.

"Daria, listen: some of the girls are planning to ambush you, and I'm not joking about that. They're going to ambush you and do something to – I can't believe I'm saying this – stop you dating Tom."

There was a long few seconds before she replied: "I see."

"I know Angie's involved, and Sandi Griffin, and Winona—"

"Mack. You're talking to _me_."

"The Drama Club head."

"See last sentence."

"She's the lead in school plays and gets on any posters?"

"Let's pretend I know this. Go on."

"That's all I know. They don't plan it at school, so if there's any odd calls-"

"I see." Pause. "Thank you, Mack."

"You don't deserve it, and I won't abide it. See you around."

She hung up.

After another pause, she turned to Erin: "You're going out in the next twenty minutes to… wherever you go this time of the night half the time, right?"

"_It's somewhere innocent!_"

"Can you give me a lift to the park? I'd walk there, really, but I have a few calls I have to make."

* * *

"Why are we here already when Daria isn't going to be for another half hour?" asked Tori Jericho.

"Because _shut up_, that's why," said Elsie.

* * *

Brittany was amazed when Daria called, assuming the girl had used "your brain brains to hack the phones or something!"

"Yes, using a complex program called the phone book," said Daria. "Listen: who, in your view, are the most popular girls in school?"

"You don't know?"

"I'm _un_popular. I'm... thinking of being slightly more popular?"

"Oh _wow!_ Um, I'm not sure if you _can_be, Daria, but I'm happy to help! Well, let's see, there's me and the other cheerleaders..."

Daria took notes for a good ten minutes, muttering "aha" every so often before finishing up the call. Next, she called in on Jane:

"How long would it take you to reach the park? Uh-huh. Well there's a few things I need you to set up..."

Her last act was to check through the phonebook again, do a few Googles, and add to her notes. The job done, she went out and joined Erin at her car.

"What's this trip for, anyway?" asked Erin. "Romantic night out with Tom?"

"Nah, that's tomorrow night. We're going to the pharmacy to read out loud all the side-effects and disclaimers on the pills."

"Oh. Sounds... fun!"

"Any plans yourself?" After hearing no reply, Daria added: "You do seem to be out a lot when he isn't."

"Brian and I are very happy together," said Erin, like she was reciting something from rote. "The wedding will be great."

"That's truly convincing, Erin."

* * *

"So I heard Skylar's going out with _Brooke_—"

"No! _No!_"

"Well, she does put out really easily, I heard—"

"Oh, not a big thing then."

"You should see the senior year, _everyone_ who isn't popular is putting out. Even the _fat_girls."

"And that works?"

"Wait, I can see her coming!"

As Daria reached the agreed rendezvous point, Elsie made herself visible. Once Daria was near enough, the other five girls stepped out and encircled her, guns drawn.

"Move against the tree," said Sandi, low and threatening. "We want to avoid sprayback on ourselves."

"So, really, there's an incentive to stand right h-"

Siobhan grabbed Daria by the arm and almost _threw_her into the tree.

"Now I see _why_you want this girl taken care of, rich guy or no rich guy," she spat. "Mouthy bitch, ain't she?"

"This is a bad time to mention those hairbuns make you look like a chipmunk then."

"_That's IT_"

Sandi pushed Siobhan's gun back down. "In a second. Ms Dar_ia_, did you really think you could get away with it? Getting above your place?"

"Let me stop you right there," said Daria, taking a sheet of paper from her jacket pocket. "Now then, uh... Siobhan Hogan, right? Senior class, visually distinctive, someone I realised I'd seen before at the cinema selling the tickets?"

"You know I work a night job. Whoooo."

"Specifically, I'd seen you before on this very night, two weeks ago. Now you could be on a new shift pattern but I called them up pretending to be looking for you and was told you were off sick. I'm sure they'd be glad to hear of your miraculous recovery. Hmmm, I spoke too soon, you've started to go pale from something."

Daria went down her list. "And... er, Winona? Big player in the drama club circles according to my sources, lots of kudos, lots of extra credits for your college app, and lots of love from... oh yes, Mr O'Neill who runs the Drama department. Sadly, Mr O'Neill also fixates on me due to Language Arts, so if I told him about tonight he'd likely believe me and then..."

"Oh just _shoot!_" yelled Angie.

"_Wait!_" Tori looked worried.

"Good move, um... Tori, I think? Anyway, according to my research you have a blog, which means computer skills, which means if _someone_ suggested you were involved in the Lawndale Leaks website Ms Li would come down on you like an overweight middle-aged woman. That's a joke. She wouldn't be able to prove anything, but it would slip out and the news would make you popular... _with nerds._"

Tori dropped the gun with an anguished cry.

"Oh, and Angie, there's clearly no way Brittany is involved with this and she wouldn't be very happy if she knew. You've already lost Mack and I don't think you want to risk losing cheerleading as well, do you."

The girl trembled and for a brief second looked like she was about to fire, but then settled.

"Now Elsie..."

"You think I care if you tell _Tom?_ Or that my parents would believe a word of it? Because that's all _you've_got on me."

"I'll help set things up so my dad can visit your dad and they can drink together when your mother's out."

"_You wouldn't._"

Daria did not smile so much as show teeth, a sight that reminded everyone of a shark zeroing in. "I _enjoy_ being on the outside and not part of your world. I am also lazy and willing to ignore you all. I'm also very, very intelligent and can be quite vindictive, and I would suggest you lay down your arms and _walk away_."

Siobhan dropped her gun first, muttering that it wasn't worth it; Tori sped off, Elsie slunk away with a look of revulsion; Angie threw hers to the ground with a scream and stormed off where nobody could see her. And that left one very angry Sandi Griffin.

"You haven't got anything on me," she said, gun aimed at Daria's centre. "Your little brain tricks won't work. And for _this_humiliation, I am going to do you in myself and put you through as much pain as possible until you stop seeing Tom."

"You're right, Sandi. You have no job, no actual peer in your club, no teacher is on your side, your parents wouldn't be bothered, and no one will confuse you for having skill. You truly have it made. So in your case, I had to change my tactics a little-"

_"DARIAAAAA!"_

Running down the pathway came Jane, a Super-Soaker clutched in her hands; Sandi stared in shock for a few seconds and then fired and _missed_. Jane tossed the toy right at Daria, who caught it and took aim.

The Super-Soaker had been filled with watery paint at Daria's instruction.

Sandi screamed in horror – "I JUST WENT TO THE SAAAALLLOOONNNN!" - as she was drenched from head to toe.

"Green paint?" Daria looked to Jane. "I was hoping red. Then I could say 'I'm seeing red'."

"Well, gimme more notice next time. So, time for the threat-slash-warning?"

She glanced at the wailing form of paint. "I think she's figured it out."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Jeffy and his speccy girlfriend Stacy were on a stroll in the park when they saw the abandoned paintball guns. Jeffy joked they could be used against muggers, which was ironic was they then _were_mugged two minutes later (he bravely threw money at the mugger).

The next night, the same mugger was prowling the park and had caught a late-night jogger on his own, when he became aware someone was behind him.

Thin it was, a paintball gun in hand, two spare canisters strapped to it by a bandolier, a skull T-shirt, and a paintball mask that made the figure looked like a goggle-eyes man.

The gun was aimed at his genitals.

"Who the hell-"

Blam.

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Siobhan Clarke is a name given to the brunette girl in the track team from See Jane Run; "Chipmunk" was a nickname the character had on a Daria website because, well, her hair does resemble a chipmunk's. Tori Jericho is the blonde in The Invitation who recounted everyone's popularity to Sandi and Tiffany; she was given the name "Tori Jericho" waaaaay back in a 1999 fic by Austin Covello, "Boy Fiend", and the name stuck. Winona joins Dave and Koichi in the "I made them up and am too lazy to properly describe them" faction.

The name "Splatoon" was shamelessly nicked from late 90s kids show SM:TV Live.

"Goggle-eyes man" is a nod to the paintball-mask wearing killer in the fanfic Sleepwalker by Roland 'Jim' Lowery. Which you should read. Now.


	15. Kneel Before Zon

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 15: Kneel Before Zon**

Quinn

Mr O'Neill had just asked the class if they had any comments they wished to make about their grades. Joey got things off to a flying start by asking "Is an F Plus the same as a D Minus?"

Quinn leaned back in her chair, comfortable in her grade: another C Minus. There'd be a brief and horrible moment when she'd started getting some C _Pluses_, but she'd got her grade back down to proper, up-the-man's standards. There was no way she was _ever_ going to follow _the man's_ educational dictat!

Except in Science, when it came to dissections. Obviously.

* * *

The Maleficent Eleven gathered together in the hallway, comparing grades in their last Language Arts classes.

"C Minus!"

"C Minus!"

"C!"

"C Minus!"

"_D Plus!_" crowed Spike, a lanky black-haired punk who kept his hair-spikes spiky with a pencil-sharpener.

"_Straight_ _D_," growled Dave, not one to be outdone.

"C Minus," said Andrea sadly, beaten.

"We had papers back?" asked Burnout.

"C Minus!" said Angel, a bit too quickly – her name came from her hair, angelic golden-blonde and permanently set into a feathered shag cut that paid undying tribute to the 80s.

Her hair made it hard to lie. The tension in her body reverberated through her many fringes, wiggling them. Quinn looked at her with confusion.

"Angel? Everything okay?"

Burnout looked at Angel's paper. "Huh. Why did your C Minus get drawn like a B?"

There was a horrified silence.

"Oh _Angel_," said Andrea, a mix of sorrow and disgust.

"It's a fluke! _A fluke!_ I just remembered some things, I'm still against the man! I am, I am!"

Quinn folded her arms. "Sure, fair nuff," she lied: something would need to be investigated.

* * *

For some reason, Shaggy was really good at blending into the background – it was like a strange power he had. This left him able to tail Angel and bring back a recon report. The report wasn't good: she'd spent a quick visit to the library. Add that to Scarlett noticing that Angel looked _knowledgeable_ in Maths and Quinn knew there was a problem.

And she had an idea of who it was.

Lunch-time was the time she would make her move, when Angel was late as usual (_was the weed-smoking behind the bins a lie too?_).

"Alright, I need a distraction. Slutty Girl!" she barked, pointing at the group's slutty girl. "Go make out with Kevin!"

"Done."

"Dave and Andrea: with her, you know what to do." She turned grimly to her other agents. "Koichi and…." She stared at the long-faced, drooping-nose junior and, despite her best intentions, said on instinct: "Butt-head Two-"

"Shane," he intoned.

"That's what I said, Butt-head Two. Block off the other avenue, you know how! Everyone else, with me. _Let's start some shit._"

The manoeuvre was flawless. Slutty Girl reached the football player's table in record time and immediately started sucking on Kevin's face; the players cheered. Within two seconds, Brittany was out of her seat and advancing with fists raised, Angie futilely yelling "_Remember your happy place!_". Just before Brittany made contact, Andrea and Dave yelled "FIIIIIIIGHT!" and pre-emptively waded in.

At the other end of the cafeteria, Koichi and Shane solemnly pulled each other's fingers, right next to the Fashion Club's table. A stampede broke loose "(Huh huh huh!" hurred Shane in triumph).

With chaos at two ends, Quinn, Spike, Scarlett and Shaggy advanced to the target table, home of their nemesis: Bob. Bob, the hugely muscled, pierced-nose, blue-haired punk. Bob, the hugely muscled, pierced-nose, blue-haired punk who had _never misbehaved in school once_. Bob, who had been seen having good grades.

And at his table, they found Angel, mortified with guilt, reading _a textbook_.

Also, Burnout.

"_Jennifer!_" snarled Quinn. (You only mentioned an Elevener's real name if they'd fucked up bad) "We thought you'd forgotten where the table was again – did you know all along?"

"Know what?" asked Burnout.

"Q-Q-Quinn, I can explain-" said Angel.

"Nothing needs to be explained," said Bob, rising to his feet, all muscle and temp tattoos. "You're just trying to raise your grades."

"That _does_ require explanation." Quinn's eyes were burning hells. "We had a fucking _agreement_, Bob. You signed the Bike Shed Accords of your own free will, you agreed to the policy of separate but punkual! Ha, more like _cunt_qual I guess!"

"I knew Angel before you did," growled Bob, his tone containing all the swear words he'd never say on school grounds. "She came to me looking to buck them up. That's what we're in school _for_, Killer."

"_You_ may not have the balls to live the life, but don't you take _my_ crew and turn them into one of your weekend wall-banger types!" She jabbed a dyed-nail finger in his face. "We don't need The Man's in punk clothing!"

"Just because you can't moderate and merge learning with punk, don't mean no one else can! You get inside the system _and_ smash it when it's not looking, you win more than total opt-out!"

"Yeah, I hear that's a popular view for _sell-outs_. Before they become _bank managers_."

Quinn's gang took a step back. Bob's nostrils flared and his fists were tense, every inch of him poised to attack.

"Killer, that was too far," said Scarlett.

"If you want to do this, we do it outside of school," said Bob, low and menacing. "You know where."

Quinn's lips curled back to show teeth. "Zon."

"_Zon_."

* * *

Tom

Tom's mother was out of town, visiting Grandmother Hilda. Tom's father was at work earlier than usual, having received a Code Red call from the office about the Korean stock markets. That meant there was no one to stop Tom from eating nothing but massive, artery-killing waffles for breakfast.

"Neeeeeeoooooowwwwwwwnnnnnnnn-" he airplane-mimed with his waffle before crashing it into his mouth ("pfff-KFFFF!"), only to realise to his horror that Elsie (to her horror) had seen that.

"You are so adopted," she said. "I pray to God that you are adopted."

"Yy lff yttt-" After a few swallows, he made out: "I love you too, sis. Well, okay, no I don't."

"Feeling's mutual. You gonna eat all those waffles?"

"No, feel free."

She took one, chomping on it. As she chewed, she eyed Tom with a mix of suspicion, concern, and irritation. Especially irritation. That said, Tom was used to this from his sister, who had been irritated by his existence since she was old enough to realise it. He'd felt the feelings back, for reasons long lost in the mist of time. It was a clearly destructive conflict, but one his parents ignored.

Their class did that a lot, Tom noticed. You didn't sort out a problem; you covered it up with politeness and pretended it wasn't there until it started to leak onto the carpet. It was one of the things that he detested about this world he was half in.

Look where it had got everyone with his brother.

"Tom," started Elsie, "about this… Daria pers-"

"Oh _man_, am I _late_, I promised some of the Fielding guys I'd give photographic evidence that Quinn Morgendorffer exists!" Tom grabbed a fistful of waffles and sped off.

_Hey, I'm avoiding a problem because it's not leaking yet,_ Tom thought. _I am my father's son. I feel closer to him._

* * *

"I realise I am not as great an authority of scientific matters as Artie the pizza delivery guy," said Daria, "but I hypothesise that if intelligent life reached Earth, the last place it would go would be Lawndale."

"Highland?" asked Tom, smirking.

"Fine. Second-last place is Lawndale."

"Ah, ye of little faith," said Jane, nibbling on the cafeteria's excuse for a taco. "Aliens have been sighted around town since before Roswell. Trent's seen five UFOs, and he was only drunk or stoned on four of those occasions."

"Sick, Sad World has done _two_ episodes in the last year on Lawndale alien rumours though," said Daria. "Why a third? Even TV audiences can remember that far back in the past. Most of them."

"But none of them had your Aunt Amy doing them," pointed out Jane. "She'll find evidence of weird beings."

"Of course she will, she's staying at our house _and_ intends to visit the Zon." Daria smirked. "I told her about the bathrooms, and she just couldn't resist."

"I'll be peeing in something Awesomely Amy Barksdale looked at," whispered Jane with awe.

"I didn't want to hear that," said Tom.

"See what I had to put up with when dating him, Daria? Total fear of the female body."

Tom was going to respond with something cutting when his phone buzzed: a text from his sister, asking him to cm 2 tbl. He sighed, made his apologies to the girls, and walked over (better that than Elsie come over and start a three-way snark war). The idea of standing next to the Fashion Club filled with dread, but thankfully two malcontents farted – eggy ones at that – and the girls scattered.

"Elsie!" he greeted as she lurched from the blast site. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your new friends?"

"Did you put them up to this? I bet you did!" She fixed him with a glare, then spat out: "We need to talk about your girlfriend."

"Okay. Her name's Daria Morgendorffer and she's my girlfriend. Tada! Job done!" He didn't even bother to hide his irritation, he never did with her. "I don't know what this is about, and I don't-"

"Damn it, Tom! One conversation! _One!_"

He almost walked away, but relented. "Okay. Fine. But not at school, or at home. Somewhere we won't be heard, and where your cabal won't be and our parents can't overhear."

"Fine. Where?"

"Zon."

"…_Zon?_"

* * *

Amy

Breakfast at the Morgendorffers was a time for breakfasting, though Amy was quite interested to see that Jake and Helen were still using beer on their cornflakes. (She filmed it) Erin and Brian sat together in clear 'bliss' where Brian talked and Erin had a fixed smile, while Daria and Jake hid behind newspapers – the headline showed a paintball-mask wearing figure, "VIGILANTE PAINTS THE TOWN".

"We need to cover that story," she mused, making sure to get some film of the headline. "So, Daria, any places worth visiting for fun around town?"

"No."

"Let me rephrase that: for people who aren't you-"

"Cashman's, football games, the Doodad Shop…" Daria lowered the paper and smirked. "Okay, the Zon should be your thing. It's the local alternative club, apparently it used to be grunge and they just never remodelled." She paused and leaned in, eyes lit up with conspiracy. "The toilets may have _whole new species of germs_ on their seats."

"Well damn, that's where _I'm_ going after work! How about you, sprat?"

"Jane and I have plans. We're going to sit at home being lazy."

"Live the dream."

The house phone rang suddenly. Helen picked it up, spoke, and then her voice took the consistency of sharp glass:

"Why _Rita._ This is about the wedding, right?"

Everyone around Amy pulled out ipods and started the tunes fast, as if they'd been drilled for this. To her horror, she realised she'd left hers in the guest bedroom and would have to listen to her sisters talk.

"Oh, I know you wouldn't fucking phone any other time! And I'm _glad_, bitch! _Glad!_ Anyway, where is little Erin getting….. _fucking Windsor Resorts, Leeville?_ Oh. Oh yes, Mother, of _course_ – you know what I mean, Rita! Yeah! YEAHHH! SAME TO FUCKING YOU!" Pause. "Hold on-" She handed the phone over to Erin. "Erin, honey, it's your mother."

"I know," she said, pulling the headphones out.

Everyone else started to take off their ipods, except Jake (Amy doubted he would until he was sure Helen wouldn't want to talk about Rita).

"Windsor Hills?" Amy whistled. "How will Mum afford that new ivory backscratcher now?"

Daria looked a bit irritated at the comment; Helen didn't notice. Amy tried not to let on she had – if her niece wanted to continue contact with the Hell-Bitch That Walked Like A Grandmother, Amy wasn't going to stop her. That would just make Edie Barksdale seem like the victim, and letting Daria think that would be a disservice.

"Nothing too good for the _favourites_," growled Helen, before wincing and yelling: "I only meant your cunthole of a mother, Erin, not you!"

"Hey….." said Jake, his face tightening. "I don't think these Daft Punk people _are punk at all DAMN IT!_"

Amy tried to avoid laughing… but not too hard, which is why she laughed. Brian joined in, apparently wanting to seem like he 'got it', which just made Amy laugh harder.

* * *

"…and this, viewers, is a map showing the alien hotspots and sightings in Lawndale!" Amy shoved the camera at the map she'd scribbled crayon all over. "As you can see here, there seems to be no pattern or rhyme to these sightings… but since they _decrease dramatically_ once you exit Lawndale, there's a pattern we just can't see! But starting with the alley behind McGrundry's Brew Garden, we'll just see if we can find one!"

She didn't mention that half the sightings were around bars, clubs, former weed farms, and similar places. Hey, she had a job to do.

As she threw her kit in her car, Amy pretended she still couldn't see Erin nervously watching her. Let the girl come to her in her own time.

"Um… Aunt Amy?"

"How's my favourite screaming poppet?" she said – that got an embarrassed smile out of Erin, reminders of her (loud) baby days always did. "Suppose I can't call you a 'poppet' now you're about to become a convict – oh, sorry, I mean _married woman_. Wait, no, the first one still."

Erin didn't grin at that. Oh dear.

"Ummmm…. Can I talk to you? Not now, obviously, we have to work, but there's…"

"Something you don't want to talk about at home?"

"Yeahhhh." She bit her lip. "And… er, after eight? I'm… _busy _after work until around then."

"Sure, Erin. How about that club Daria mentioned? Pretty private there, nobody will hear us including us! What was it called again? The Zen."

"Zon."

"_Zon_..."

* * *

Jake

Helen was already in a bad mood when she answered the door, and it was not improved by the sight of a policeman on the doorstep.

"I knew this day would come," she said. **"SNAKE, GIRLS, OUT THE BACK I'LL HOLD THEM OFF!"**

"I have an appointment to see Morgendorffer Consulting?" he said, unsure of himself.

"…oh. **FALSE ALARM!** Jake didn't mention taking a pi- a fas- a _policeman_ as a client." Not missing a beat, she whipped out a form from its holding place next to the door. "Please sign this waiver of any criminal investigations and questioning inside this house (hereby called "the house") for at least a 24 hour period, subject to extension."

"Uh… sure."

The girls, Amy, and Erin were off to school and work respectively, and gave the copper a good eyeball on their way out (Quinn flipped the bird and Amy started to sing _"Hey Walla, I'll see you in a-Walla Walla!"_, the bitch). Jake was busy screaming abuse at the newspaper comic strips – "Let Garfield live how he wants DAMN IT!" – and immediately turned friendly when the officer walked in.

"Officer Rankin! Good to see you! Find the house okay then?"

"The giant anarchy sign spraypainted on the wall was a help."

Rankin, a big man who was only thirty but looked like he'd been grizzled since birth, sounded like he was no longer sure he wanted to be there. It was too late though, Jake was pumping his hand enthusiastically.

"So, looking to manage the Dega Street beat and unsure how to open relations, eh? Well, you've come to the right place! We'll get your image spruced up so well you'll be arresting _yourself!_"

"Mr Morgendorffer was not making any comment implying criminal activity will take place," said Helen.

"So, Rankin – hmmm, the Rankman! Rank-and-Roll! We'll get back to that… Anyway, I've called in some favours from my crew down in Dega and will be taking you round their places-"

Helen rushed off to her car, mentally drafting the possible legal defences and waivers.

"-and we'll get you fit for purpose!" He raised his fingers in a two-finger salute. "FUCK DA MAN!"

Rankin slowly did it himself. "Fuck da man?"

Jake winced. "Ehhh, we'll work on it."

Brian Danielson entered the kitchen, looking happy: "Oh! You're getting arrested?"

* * *

The shop owners of Funky Doodle and The New Black had agreed to an alliance for Jake, who'd helped them stop Hot Topic getting a foothold in Dega. They circled Rankin with clinical eyes, quietly muttering about fabric, colour, material, and price tag.

Rankin walked out with his shirt's sleeves torn off in artful ways, ripped leather jeans replacing the uniform's, a British police helmet on his head, retro shades, big stomp boots, and a facial expression like a first-year economics student who'd just been asked to handle the national deficit.

"I look ridiculous."

"Hell no, man!" cried Jake, slapping him on the back. "You totally fit in!"

A passing metalhead saw Rankin and cheered: "Right on! Show them pigs!"

"See? You're cuddly now!"

* * *

Axl's Tattoo Parlour had Helen waiting with a waiver to sign regarding licenses and health regs, which Rankin signed in a daze. Axl himself went into immediate discussions with Jake about what tattoos to put on the man's arms:

"We do need to remind people he really is the police – but not _police_ police, y'know?"

"I got this NYPD badge tat with 'PIG' instead of the PD name."

"Perfect! Oooh, how about that Judge Dredd?"

"Better throw in the 'MUM' heart, that's traditional innit?"

In the end they went with two "PIG" badge tattoos, one for each shoulder, so he'd be identifiable from both sides.

"Excellent!" Jake showed Rankin the mirror, and Rankin tried not to cry. "Now we just need to test your resilience to environmental issues…"

* * *

As the amp-at-11 combined roars of as many punk songs as possible thundered around Vinyl Suit, Rankin decided he was going to fucking kill Captain Lauderdale when he got back to the station.

* * *

"Well, I think it works," said Jake. "What do you think, Hellion?"

"I wouldn't mind him arresting people," she replied.

"Score! But, of course, there's only one place to truly field test this…"

Rankin sighed. He had an idea what was coming.

"Zon?"

"_Zon!"_

* * *

Upchuck

Charles Ruttheimer III woke up to a glorious day: the takings for Ultrasuave Ltd were staying steady, the Force for Families First had condemned his new Fun Nuns sub-site as being an abomination (hits would triple!), and Detective Sergeant Kilpatrick had accepted his latest bribe to ignore that he was an underage porn baron. Only one thing could make it better…

And yes! His email account _did_ have a message from someone looking to be a new 'actress'!

"_Fei_sty!"

At lunchtime, around the time a fight broke out at the football player's table, he got a second email from this mysterious dame, agreeing to a meet-up. He began to type _Let's meet at_ but then got stuff thinking for a place. Where would be fun?

At that point, Steve and the other security guards came storming in to break up the fight, or would have if the guys at the front hadn't slipped on spilt food.

"MAN DOWN!" screamed Steve, firing his taser in panic at, it turned out, his own guys.

The crashing and the violence and owies reminded Upchuck of a good place:

"Zon!"

_Zon._

* * *

"Holy shit, he actually fell for the 'oh I'm a model' trick!" laughed one gangster to the other. "Man, is this Ultrasuave guy a horny kid or something?"

"Whoever he is, he's going to regret muscling in on the Congress gangbang fetish racket when he was told not to! _Nobody_ crosses the Five-A-Side Gang!"

The delinquent quintuplets roared an agreement.

"Where are we hitting this prick, anyway?"

"Some club in this Lawndale place. They call it… Zon."

"_Zon_…"

* * *

Zon (_ZON_)

"Shocking new revelations of the French Secret Services crack poodle assassins! The Dogs of War, next on SICK, SAD WORLD!"

"And after that, they're showing Manos _and_ Krull," said Daria. "This is going to be a fun night in."

"Odd no one else in your family's here," said Jane, relaxing into the sofa. "I wonder where everyone else is?"

"Me too. Then I get over it."

* * *

"This is stupid!" raged Max, throwing the Santa hat to the ground. "I'm not wearing this! Whoever heard of a Christmas theme night in spring anyway?"

"Don't diss the birth of Our Lord and rocker," said Nick, upset.

"A gig's a gig," said Trent. "We can finally use that alterna-grunge-metal version of White Christmas."

* * *

The Zon was more packed than usual, and also more full of body odour and spilt drinks. Quinn got the gang to split up and enjoy themselves (this was _her_ shout), while Upchuck passed the time by hitting on random people (Andrea crossed his path and responded to the hitting with her own), Amy Barksdale and Erin cornered the bar, and at the other end, Elsie Sloane wondered with horror what she was walking in.

Jeffy looked at this in confusion, and turned to his girlfriend Stacy. "Why are we here on a date again?"

"I… don't know," she said. "It seemed appropriate for some reason."

* * *

"I can't believe people live like this," grimaced Elsie, clinging to her chair to escape everything else. "You come here by _choice?_"

"The sooner you get to the point, the sooner you can leave and buy replacement shoes," said Tom. "So let's hear it."

"Daria. You should break it off."

Tom started to get up "We're done here-"

"Have you told her we're going to Fielding next year?"

He paused. "Dad hasn't said for certain yet."

"We went to Pleb High because cutbacks were needed, but Dad's company has been improving for almost a year now, which you know because that's how you get Dad's _good_ old car," said Elsie, smiling contemptuously. "You know it's coming, Tom. We weren't going to be in public school once we didn't _have_ to be."

"Okay, we might be changing schools. We're not moving."

"It's _Fielding_, dear Thomas. That's a move in every way that _counts_. You think _Daria _would ever get into Fielding, even if she could afford it or get a scholarship? You think this fleapit is where the kids from Fielding go, unless they want to boast about how they slummed it?"

"I like the music."

"You're wearing a damn _sweater_, Tom. This isn't where you belong; this is just where you go to do the nice, _comfortable_ rebellion and pretend to the plebs that you're one of them before you go back to a mansion."

"You have no idea why I go to places like this," he said quietly.

"Oh, _bull!_ And Daria – you think that'll work in Fielding? How about Bromwell? You're not going to pass them up, they're where you want to be!" There was anger in her voice. "Look where she is, who her _family_ is! You're in a different world and you want to be there – how will this last? How long do you think our parents will go along with it?"

"They like Daria-"

"Now, when she's a high school fling, but beyond that? Marriage? You're deluded if you think they'll put up with it. That's not what a Sloane marries into. You've known that for months."

* * *

"_Bob."_

"_Quinn."_ The huge punk turned round, taking a defiant swig of alcohol; Angel stood nearby, nervous. "So. Pick your battlefield."

"Mosh pit," she growled. "Last one standing wins."

"_Done._"

* * *

"Wow, that mosh pit sure looks nasty now," said Amy, glancing at it. "Guess someone must be really into Oh Little Donkey."

"Isn't that Quinn over there?" asked Erin.

"Ah, that explains it. So!" She smiled, hoping to set her niece at ease. "What's on your mind, screaming poppet?"

"Um… well…. It's the… er…" She clasped her hands together like she was trying to block something. "You've dated a lot, right?"

"I get around."

"And you've had some really weird boyfriends?"

"That could be said."

"And you've sometimes cheated on people, and Mum said you did some really, um, weird stuff a few times-"

"There's a point to this, yes?" asked Amy in a distinctively frosty voice.

"Well, um, I've kind of been seeing… someone else, and it's a bit weird, and I wanted to get advice from…"

"From someone who knows about cheating and kinky sex," said Amy in sub-zero tones.

"Yes! That's right!"

"…"

"It's like this…"

* * *

Shaggy was about to get weed from the usual dealer, Pothead Ed, when this hulking tattooed _thing_ with a tit attached to its head loomed out and grabbed Ed.

"You're under arrest."

A dozen hostile eyes glanced round, ready to prevent any action by the Fascist pigs, but at the sight of Officer Rankin they all glanced away again, their minds instinctively filing him as someone who must clearly be a dude.

Jake slapped Rankin on the back. "It works!"

"It really does," said the officer in wonder.

While Rankin wandered off to test it further, Jake had a freckled ginger kid in a very silly pimp suit hand him a sign: "Excuse me, but I'm trying to meet someone; could you hold this up so they know where I am?"

"Sure thing, m'man!" Jake studied it. "The… Ruttster? Ewww-www-_wwww!_"

* * *

Quinn and Bob crashed into each other like continental drift, sending metaphorical earthquakes through everyone else (who pushed back). She tried to work his legs and back with repeated pounding while he aimed for stomach and chest to knock her down; failing that, they resorted to using two metallers as weapons (the metallers were quite happy about this).

Throwing her bloodied 'weapon' aside with a roar, Quinn charged and took Bob careering backwards…

* * *

"Elsie, you ever thought that maybe I'm not that bothered if not every facet of my life fits with the grand plan?" He looked her dead in the eye. "Not since Angier."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Our brother _was_ the damn plan. The heir to the throne, the one who'd be going to Bromwell first, doing all the right things socially and in school and with sports-" Tom got to his feet, teeth bared. "And friends with all – the – _right – people_."

"Stop it-"

"Except oh wait! Lionel Parkeston wasn't 'right', he was taking drugs and guilty of a few 'little' things that were quietly hushed up and that nobody wanted to talk about. So nobody knew how far down the rot went, certainly not Angier the Sequel who thought he was just some cool older kid at school." Tom's voice was neutral but his face wasn't. "And nobody wanted to notice, or mention, what Angier was getting into running with that gang. Boys will be boys. All rumours. Don't make a fuss.

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but if I'm killed because I was in a car driven by someone who was wired, it doesn't really matter if the driver was one of our sort or if he was one of Killer Quinn's posse. I'm still _goddamn dead_. So frankly, Elsie, I don't really care about sweating the small crap or whether I'm keeping the side up. If Daria doesn't fit into our world, our world can suck it."

Silence.

Broken, quite suddenly, by Quinn and Bob crashing through the place and knocking their table (and them) flying.

"Now _that's_ a mood wrecker."

* * *

"I don't think, in all my years, I have ever done anything that…" Amy struggled to find a fitting word. "…_weird_."

Erin looked down. "Um."

"You didn't have to go into that much detail, Erin, really, I got it earlier." She gulped down more of her drink. "Dear, oh dear. So: you want advice?"

"Yes please."

"Andrew Landon's your _boss_, it's never going to work. I slept with one of my old bosses and that just led to some really icky negotiations over the Christmas bonus, I can tell you. No, it's just a mess, he's always going to be your boss first and foremost, you'll never get anything else out of him in the long run and it'll lead to Takashi Miike level creepy."

"I don't know how I can get out of it."

"Well, I once did that by phoning up the wife and telling her and that worked _really _well. I recommend that!" After seeing the look on Erin's face, she added: "That's a joke, honest. But you should find another job before you break it off. Tell him you're doing it so you can see him without work getting in the way, so he'll give you a good reference; then, once you're out, dump him really viciously!"

"But what if-"

"If he doesn't want you to leave, then you do the worst possible job ever and make it so he has to dump you if he doesn't want the company to tank. I did that once. He let the company tank, but it could work _this_ time!"

"Thanks, Aunt Amy. That's… a lot of think about."

Over to their side, in earshot, a shell-shocked Jeffy and Stacy tried to finish their drinks.

* * *

"I'm going," said Elsie, no longer trying to wipe the drinks and dirt off her clothes. "Don't follow me."

"Like I would _now_," said Tom, "Quinn and that other guy have just ended up on the _stage_. I'm waiting to see how this ends."

* * *

The Five-A-Side Gang entered the club like a gang of five people, scanning for their target. And they found it.

"Man, doesn't he know punk is _dead_?"

"It _will_ be."

The five of them strode over to Jake and, once he could see them, the lead slipped on his brass knuckles-

And did not expect Jake to yell "HOOLIGAN RULES!" and headbutt him.

"No one butts Bruno Uno in front of his bro's and lives! YOU'RE DEAD!"

"I BET YOUR BALLS LOOK LIKE DAD'S FACE GAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

* * *

Up on the stage, Quinn and Bob hadn't noticed their blows were now in synch with Away In A Manger, but they did notice the fight breaking out.

"That's my dad!"

The two of them glanced at each other, and on the unspoken agreement they ripped Mystik Spiral's amplifiers away ("Sorry Trent!") and rushed down to batter people with them.

* * *

Jeffy saw the fight, which showed no signs of coming over to where he and Stacy were, then thought how many boyfriend points he could get for protecting her.

"They're coming towards us! I'll protect you, Stacy!" he yelled, charging off.

* * *

Amy and Erin gasped, Amy with shock: "It's the Five-A-Side Gang, outside of Vegas! Good thing I had my camera – Erin, cover my drinks! I smell bonus!"

* * *

Jake crashed to the ground and began to take a kicking, but the gang had to back off when Lew Deux and Clive Five took amps to the spinal cord.

"SOLIDARITYYYY!" roared Bob.

Bob took a roundhouse punch to the face and Quinn to the stomach, but Jake had time to get up and hit with the nearest weapon (Upchuck's sign). Guy Drei would have jumped him if Jeffy hadn't rammed into him saying "TAKE THAT!" and then proceeded to injure Guy's knuckles with his face.

Around the battle, Amy ran about with her camera, trying to get the best shots: "Jake the Snake, any comments on this beating you're taking?"

"I CAN WIN FIGHTS **I'LL SHOW YOU OLD MAN!**"

In the chaos, nobody had noticed that Stacy had vanished.

Elsie Sloane had looked at the battle and walked on, muttering about lower classes. Tom, by contrast, was staring and had said "Mr Morgendorffer?" That was overheard by Joe Quatro, who grabbed the youth by the neck.

"We've got your _pal_, Ruttster! Back down _now_ or—"

A long spray of seltzer spray hit him in the eyes – "YOWWWWW!" – and he dropped Tom. Joe took another blow to the sides and fell, only barely able to notice the paintball-masked figure above him, a seltzer sprayer in hands (well Stacy couldn't smuggle the paintball gun about her person).

"Nobody _needed _help, damn it!" yelled Quinn through blood. "We're hardcore!"

The outcome at this point could have gone anywhere, except Officer Rankin had got to the stage and commandeered the Spiral speakers and instructed Trent to play the loudest possible note he could with the remaining amp. And that was _pretty fucking loud._

"**POLICE!"** roared Rankin, advancing through the parting crowds to the Five-A-Side Gang. **"YOU'RE UNDER ARREST FOR BREACH OF THE PEACE, ASSAULT AND BATTERY, CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT HARM, AND PISSING ME THE FUCK OFF!"**

"You'll never take us al-"

Rankin, acting on a primal instinct, headbutted Bruno Uno unconscious.

The Zon cheered: "WHOOP WHOOP! THAT'S THE SOUND OF THE POLICE!"

It was at this point that a squad of Lawndale PD's finest burst into the Zon. They looked at all involved, then looked at Rankin, and under primal instincts held by all normal coppers they instantly zapped him with every taser they had.

"The Nazis are picking on that policeman!" roared one Zon-goer. "GET THEM!"

* * *

"Well, the news is saying there's a riot going on in Dega Street, but other than that it's pretty dull," said Daria into her phone. "Oh, I have a friend around. Say hi, Jane."

"Hi, Jane!"

"Very droll," replied Grandma Barksdale.

* * *

As everyone moved very fast away from the riot police, Angel caught up with Quinn.

"Quinn, I just wanted to say-" Then she smashed a bottle on Quinn's shoulder. "-tell me what to fucking do with grades and this goes on your fucking _face!_"

"Whoa, she's _not_ a sellout!" said Spike happily. "Cool!"

"…alright, whatever," muttered Quinn, angry.

Bob, physically dragging two riot policemen along as he ran, overheard this and smiled. _My work here… is DONE._

* * *

"Daria, about young Erin's wedding-"

"Don't worry, she got Mum, Dad, and Quinn to sign a contract saying they'd wear normal clothes."

"No, there's something else," said her gran. "I've pulled a few strings with Rita – I've made sure you'll be a bridesmaid."

Daria's jaw dropped. She struggled for an appropriate thing to say in response.

And at that very moment, a totally battered but triumphant Jake and Quinn came in, followed by Erin and Amy yelling "PULITZER WOOOOOO!", so instead Daria said "holy shit " .

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This fic was nominated for Favourite Character Growth and Favourite Weird Idea ion the 2010 Daria Fanwork Awards, though it missed both (And The Mall Won seized two awards though). It was first written at Christmas 2010, hence Spiral's odd gig.

Bob is one of the "backgrounders", the recurring background characters in Daria – specifically, the large blue-haired punk who turns up now and again (his name can be seen on O'Neill's seating chart in Café Disaffecto). He was always well behaved in that background… ("Butt-Head II" was a nickname given to a backgrounder by another writer, cos he laughed like Butt-Head once)

"Delinquent quintuplets" were a Sick, Sad World story in "Sappy Anniversary".


	16. Wedding Hell

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 16: Wedding Hell**

If anyone wants to pray for the Morgendorffers, now's the time.

* * *

The saleslady at Wedding Belles looked at Daria, blinking.

"I'm sorry, we don't do funerals."

"What about weddings that become funerals?" asked Jane.

Daria gave her a funeral-invoking glare, then said to the saleslady: "I'm a bridesmaid for the Chambers-Danielson wedding. My grandmother contact you with the details."

"Oh yes. I remember." The saleslady sighed. "Pity, they're such lovely dresses."

It only went downhill from there, as the lady struggled to get Daria to fit _inside _the dress without drowning.

"Nature didn't give you much in the way of hips, did it?"

"I knew it would come to this." Daria took out a photo. "This is my immediate family. If you don't leave the putdowns to the expert, I will suggest that my mother and sister visit here to get _their_dresses."

"_I'll b e good._"

Daria thought her humiliation was complete, but at that point Jodie and Brittany came in and saw her. Jane, looking at Daria's expression, tried hard not to snigger (well, not hard. Or tried).

"Wow, I didn't know you were marrying Tom already!" said Brittany.

"Well, the pregnancy forced their hand," said Jane.

"Yeah, I have to secure Tom before Momma Jane can guilt-trip him into marrying her," replied Daria.

"Ohhh. Good one."

"That's a _mean _reason, Daria!" said a shocked Brittany. "Poor Jane!"

Jodie shook her hand. "It's a joke, Brittany. One of Daria's many bad taste ones, making fun of poor life choices."

"Oh." Her mind dumped the difficult thoughts. "We're modelling for a bridal expo at school!"

"It's a fundraiser and will encourage students to think about commitment early," said Jodie, staring Daria down as if daring her to snark. "What are you really here for?"

"My cousin Erin's getting married. And boy, is that a poor life choice."

"Not... Oh god, not Erin Chambers." The girl groaned, knowing the answer. "My parents are going to that! 'Strengthening employee relations', Dad you... you _progressive._"

"He got burned," deadpanned Jane.

Erin's boss was coming to the wedding? That was the first Daria had heard of it, and she'd heard more than she'd ever wanted to know about it (i.e. anything). Aside from his spawning of Jodie, all Daria knew about Andrew Landon was he was wealthy, so red-state in his beliefs that he ruined the colour for international Communism, and that he apparently liked Erin's work.

Erin who was repeatedly coming home late and flushed and _oh crap_.

"Why are you smiling at me?" asked Jodie, suspicious.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Jodie and Brittany headed off to another part of the shop, and Daria was finally pinned into her dress. This was a bad thing, as she now had to look at it in the mirror. She had enough time to think _thank god Tom can't see it _before she saw Tom in the reflection.

"Hey," he said. "Jane let slip when you were doing this-"

"Snitch!" yelled Jane.

"-so I thought I'd surprise and soak up the romantic atmosphere."

"Uh-huh." Daria stared him down. "And how do I look, dear sir?"

"Horrible."

"Honest to the last."

"Eh, I'm more interested in the chocolate than the wrapper."

Daria blushed hard.

"So it'd be better if she went to the wedding naked?" asked Jane.

* * *

Michelle Landon was used to multitasking from her senior vice-presidency at US World. That enabled her to change baby Evan _and_argue with her husband without missing a beat with either.

"And you better not be making a habit of this, I'm not going to every wedding that your staff get into. For one thing, if we make a habit of leaving the girls alone during the weekends, they might start to slack off and watch TV instead of studying or something."

"Okay, it'll just be the one wedding, honey," said Andrew soothingly. "It's not just Ms Chambers, but her uncle Jake is a friend in the business."

"You've never mentioned him before."

"I thought I had. Good ol' Jake Chambers, salt of the Earth, that man!" Andrew wandered over to tickle his gurgling son, now that someone else had sorted out the diapers. "It'll go fine."

* * *

"It'll go fine!" said Brian, slapping Erin on the back in the kitchen. "All the arrangements are sorted, your gran's paying for it, and all we have to do is turn up and get married! What could go wrong?"

Erin didn't speak, and merely took a deep gulp of her drink.

"Uh, honey, isn't that Helen's 'special stuff'?"

"I... didn't notice?" Gulp.

* * *

W-Day was counting down and would be reached tomorrow: that would mean Erin and Brian would soon move out, most likely. And that meant no Brian. That was cause for celebration; Jake had already put in an order for a "BRIAN'S FUCKED OFF" cake.

So he wasn't sure why Helen was getting more and more tense as they got closer to the end.

"Daria's a bridesmaid," said Helen when he asked.

"I don't see how – oh god! Don't they have to marry the groom if something happens to the bride? NOT MY LITTLE KIDDO AND BRIAN-"

"It's not that, Snake. It's..." Unable to articulate, Helen kicked the wall in a fury. Fucking damn it, Mother's up to something! I _knew_ she would be, _I knew it!_ This is part of something, and I knew if I said or did anything that'd just make _me _look like the villain so that bitch wins either way!" Kick. "DAMN IT!"

Jake grabbed his wife in an embrace. "It won't go down that way, Hellion," he said firmly.

She looked up at him, eyes filled with rage that she couldn't set on the right target. And beneath that fury, fuelling it, was fear.

* * *

Erin had made Helen and Jake _promise _they'd wear sensible clothes and make sure Quinn did too, but she agreed they could keep their usual hair and piercings. The sight, Daria thought, looked three times as weird as punks on their own would. Not that she could comment, she was wearing a dress that was trying to eat her.

When the car approached the Windsor Hills Resort, Daria took a photo and sent it to Tom and Jane, with the text: 'The wedding is taking place in the Overlook Hotel'.

Erin and Brian had arrived already, and were at the entrance, still unchanged, with Aunt Rita and whoever the hell Rita was with now, so they could greet the guests. Erin seemed to be smiling genuinely when the Morgendorffers pulled up, while Rita had a fixed smile.

"Helen!"

"Rita!"

_Don't worry, we all heard the "please die" _thought Daria.

Rita moved in to hug Helen, then gave up when it was clear Helen wouldn't reciprocate. "Jake!" she tried instead. "How are you?"

"Well, I got this annoying itch in my-"

"And the girls look..." She stared at Daria's dress, and said a very unconvincingly: "lovely!"

"Sis's dress is shit," said Quinn, convincingly.

Rita ignored her. "Everyone, this is my beau, Paul Meyerson!"

Jake stared in horror. "_Paul Meyerson from Scouts?_"

"Jake?" Paul looked confused. "I thought the name Morgendorffer sounded familiar – what's with the hair? Didn't you join the military or something?"

"Oh, it was _SOMETHING_, all right! Fucking SOMETHING! _JUST WHAT YOU WANTED, HUH DAD?_"

Erin's smile was starting to die. Her eyes looked hollow without it.

As Jake's rant paused for breath, a load roaring distracting most of the group – a sports car was coming up the driveway.

"Wow, who's that?" asked Quinn.

Daria didn't recognise the driver, but Rita clearly did. She was trembling.

Erin's smile was back. "_Daddy!_"

"Erin _has _a dad?" asked Quinn.

"I know it sounds crazy, but I hear that's how babies work," said Daria.

The car was new, and flashy. The man behind it was tall, in an expensive suit and with slicked-back brown hair that looked distinctively dyed. And as he got nearer, Aunt Rita composed herself, looked stoic, did not look alive.

Erin's father handed the car over to a valet and advanced with his arms open wide; Erin rushed forward and hugged him.

"I wasn't sure you'd be able to make it!"

"Of course I'd make it, honey! Good god, look at you! All dressed up and adult!"

Rita still said nothing.

"_Gordo!_" Jake was beaming, and slapped the man on the back. "Haven't seen you in, what, going on twenty years? How ya _been?_"

"God, Snake you old rascal! You haven't changed a bit!" laughed Gordon Chambers.

"You still a capitalist pig-dog?" asked Jake amiably.

"Ever since the credit crunch, I've been lying about what I do at parties. You get less drinks thrown at you that way."

"Hell yeah, I'd have glassed you myself! Oh hey, you never saw the kids: this is Quinn, and this is Daria. She's Erin's bridesmaid!"

Jake and Gordon headed inside, chatting away. Gordon looked at Rita briefly but she refused to acknowledge him. Paul looked oblivious to the whole thing, or at least trying to seem oblivious.

Aunt Amy arrived next, the Imperial March blaring out of her car, a present in her arms for Erin when she was out.

"Here you go, screaming poppet – DVD boxset of that really horrible soap opera you like." Amy glanced around at the crowd outside. "And I apparently just missed the arrival of Pol Pot's walking corpse, based on Rita's face."

"Daddy came," said Erin, still smiling.

"Ahhh. Man, Rita, going from him to... whoever this guy is, what a comedown. How many is that now?"

"_You're_ still winning _that _race," hissed Rita.

Amy's expression hardened. "Quality before quantity, eh? You have to achieve quality for that, sis."

Amy stormed in, leaving the mood shattered and Daria wondering what she'd just witnessed. Her aunt had had a large number of boyfriends, she knew that, but Rita seemed to imply something else. She could have meant marriages, Rita had had two of them and a failed engagement, but Amy had never been married.

She couldn't have been. She'd have said.

"This conversation's as boring as Aunt Rita!" yelled Quinn. "Can we go inside already?"

* * *

The wedding party was gathering and beginning to pick up more people, and conversations were breaking out. Daria noticed, and remarked to an amused Helen, that she could tell which were the groom's guests: not a woman among them. And they sucked.

Rita, snappier since Gordon arrived, had taken personal command over the bridesmaids, checking they knew what they were doing.

"Millie, I don't _care_ you find Todd more attractive, your escort is still Egon. Daria - and _why couldn't your family have got the same dress as everyone else-_"

"They did," said Daria.

Rita blinked, and winced. "Oh. Anyway, your escort is Garrett. That's him over there – Millie, introduce them."

When Daria was taken over to the two guys, she saw the incredibly bored, dour-looking one and said "of course", and so was really shocked when Garrett turned out to be the handsome, smiling one. Garrett seemed pretty shocked as well.

"If she takes her glasses off and shakes her hair out, I am sure she will turn into a supermodel," droned the other guy to Garrett.

_Why can't he be my escort?_

Meeting done, Daria was forced back to listen to Rita go through the strategy another time – but she managed to notice Andrew Landon and his wife arriving.

"Daria, is something funny?" snapped Rita.

"Yes."

* * *

"Jake Chambers!"

Jake looked behind himself for this other Jake. To his surprise, the smiling stranger meant _him_, and was aggressively pumping his arm. On instinct, Jake squeezed back in an attempt to 'win'.

"Good to see you, man! Don't worry, Jakey, this isn't business – we're all happy to see young Erin get married!"

"Well, actually, I don't think most people _are_, but that's nice of you to say that... guy!"

"Guy?" asked the man's wife, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, it's a pet name for me, there's a long story to this," laughed the stranger.

Gordon, who Jake had been talking to, glanced at the punk. "Friend of yours then?"

Jake was starting to feel very worried. He didn't remember this man but apparently this man knew him, so they _must_ have met. But could he have forgotten an entire person? On reflection, he realised yes, he certainly could. _He had to keep Whatsisname from realising._

"Sure! Good ol' Guy – not that he's called Guy, no sir! That comes from..." Jake racked his brains quickly, thinking what things he associated with 'Guy'. "...Guy Fawkes, that guy who tried to blow up the English government! Cos that's our guy-who-isn't-Guy, a total hardcore ANARCHIST!"

"Haha, that's one of our in-jokes," 'Guy' said to his wife.

"Cos he's actually a really bland conservative!" yelled a desperate Jake. "Yes, erm... So hey, Guy, ever met Gordo?"

Once the two started chatting, Jake started to think of a way he could subtly sneak off and check with Hellion that they hadn't changed their surname to Chambers and he'd forgotten.

* * *

All Quinn wanted to do was go to the bathroom and piss. Preferably on the seat, followed up by clogging the toilet with loads and loads of paper – fuck yeah, take that Posh Resort Place! – but the wedding minister was intent on following her for some reason. This had horrified her, until she remembered she wasn't in her usual clothes and therefore was unlikely to get a speech about renouncing Satan.

Then he started to talk about love and how the Bible was full of commands to love. Quinn said "uh-huh" and "wow" a lot in the hope he'd get to the point before she had to piss on his shoes.

_If I pissed on his shoes, the gang would find it really cool,_she thought, studying his feet.

* * *

"So! Daria!" Garrett was as polite as a black fiancé meeting his future in-laws who were all in the KKK. "It's... really quite nice looking, the wedding, right? Hoping to catch the bouquet."

"No."

"...close to the bride?"

"I barely know her. I'm not really part of the family, but after my real parents were killed by the mafia I was put in witness protection with the Morgendorffers."

"That's nice."

_I really want the other guy. GOD._

* * *

Erin looked at herself in the mirror, her dress on and looking magnificent. Every inch of it screaming about the money Grandma Barksdale had spent. The perfect dress for the perfect day.

She looked at it for a long time, her face unreadable, when one of the bridesmaid's came to see her.

"Oh, Erin hun, some gentlemen and his wife have turned up, he says he's your boss at work? We didn't know he was coming so your ma had to put him with Luhrman, is that alright?"

When the bridesmaid saw Erin's face, she misunderstood and told her they'd move Luhrman.

* * *

"...so that was a pretty good baseball game, but those guys are always good to play against," said Garrett, clearly knowing Daria didn't give two shits but clearly scared to let silence take root.

Luckily, Amy took that opportunity to break in: "Sprat, I hate myself in formal ware, and you, and everyone else. It's like an incredibly uptight version of the Borg."

"You could team up with Mum against Aunt Rita."

"Best not, your mother and I-" A brief glimpse of something Daria couldn't read, then gone in a second. "Never mind. Anyway, I'd have to talk to Rita and that scene out front? That's what happens when you talk to Rita. No wonder Gordo walked out."

Daria blinked. That was not something she'd expected to slip out. Still, if Amy was in the mood...

"Marriage like playing Russian roulette except the bullet is the successful marriage?"

"That'd mean the more you got married, the closer you'd get. Hmmm. Could be, sprat, could be. Not that Rita dares _try_and find out, or go more than six months-"

"How about your own?"

Amy's mouth opened, then she caught herself. "I'm not going into that," she said quietly.

"I didn't know you'd been married."

Amy paused. "Three times. I don't count the fourth because we were drunk and in Vegas." The first sentence had been quiet; the second abruptly switched into a jokey tone. "Ha, did I ever tell you about that trip and the Elvis impersonators forming the Church of the Latter-Day King-"

"Why didn't you ever tell me that before?"

"Eh, I told you just now. Oh damn, is that – oh wow, it's Andrew Landon and Michelle Landon and they sent campaign contributions for a congressman that Sick, Sad World reported was a... Oh _man_, I have to introduce myself and watch their faces!"

Daria watched her go. Aunt Amy had never _run_from a discussion before, and light tone or not, that was what she was doing. It was odd. But her aunt had been odd since she found out she was talking to Gran.

She assumed it was odd, anyway. She didn't know what Amy was like when she wasn't around.

Daria turned and jumped when she was Garrett was _still there._

He growled "I'm being fucking courteous and polite, ain't I?".

* * *

"A wild, rolling, surging _ocean_of love, on which we, as mere individuals, have no control! Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Quinn thought it through, when a suspicion came to mind.

"Wait, are you talking about shagging?"

"Well, child, I wouldn't put it like _that_-"

"Okay, geez, fine: are you saying you want to 'have love' with me?"

Wordlessly, sweating, he nodded.

She grabbed him and pulled him down while her knee shot up.

* * *

The dour man saw Daria and said to her: "This guy Landon must be popular. Everyone knows him well enough to do the 'pretend you don't know him' in-joke."

"He really is my cousin's boss," she said (not bothering to notice that Garrett had turned to an ipod).

"Then I feel sorrier for her than I did after meeting the groom. It was in the bathroom-"

"Ah, _that's _what you feel sorry for her about. I'm Daria."

"Luhrman."

"First or last name?"

"Does it matter?"

"For the first time in months, I wish I was single."

Commotion could be heard at the other end of the garden party: an elderly woman had arrived. Daria swallowed. It could be any old woman, she knew that, but she knew who it really has, this grey-haired, immaculately dressed woman with a walking stick and the remnants of ruddy colours in her skin and the way Rita was coming forward and Amy and Mum were not.

Daria stepped forward, and the woman smiled as she saw her.

"Ah. Daria. My goodness, you've grown."

"Hi Grandma," she said, nervous (would she ask about the dress? She hoped not).

Grandma Barksdale turned to Rita. "Rita, my dear, I apologise for the delay – I know I should pay for someone to drive for me these days, but you know how vanity gets-"

"No problem, Mother, we're just about ready to start as it is," said Rita, slightly tense for a reason Daria couldn't see. "Will you be staying for the whole party?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss a chance to see my granddaughters! How does Erin look, anyway?"

"She's a picture! You'll see for yourself in just a min-"

"_The minister's been attacked!_" cried out a man. "Does anyone know first aid? He's unconscious and bleeding and the attacker _urinated_on him! Get an ambulance!"

The dark clouds had been gathering and just now began to growl thunder.

* * *

Rita was steadily losing her temper, striding around the outside party and trying to Google local priests on her phone; trying to _find_one that was free on immediate notice, however, was proving impossible. She looked on the verge of crying.

Everyone else milled around, unsure of what to do. Every last soul was waiting for someone else to suggest they go inside and start eating the food now.

"Unbelievable," muttered Edie Barksdale. "Why would someone do that to a man of cloth? Sheer thuggery."

Daria, who was pretty damn sure it had been Quinn, said nothing.

"Poor Erin, she's been looking forward to this for so long..." The woman glanced at Daria, judging a reaction. "Even if it is to that Brian."

"I'm sure he has some good qualities," said Daria, "which he probably leased from a better person."

"Ha. Quite. You seem to have picked a better match, though."

"Tom definitely didn't lease anything. He inherited his qualities in a trust fund. Of course, he had to go to Lawndale High to meet me, so it's not _all _good."

"Presumably he'll be transferred to Fielding at some point?"

_That _hit Daria from a blind spot. Her first reaction was to ask "why?", her second to realise that this was an obvious thing to happen to Tom, and her third to snap at her grandmother like she'd said something rude.

"I don't know," she muttered.

"That would seem to be a better fit for the two of you."

"I don't think I could handle the uniform. Wearing the same clothes every day? I could never do that." Then she realised her grandmother hadn't seen her in years and wouldn't get the joke. "Sorry, that's a joke because I always-"

"Never mind. The general point: it's nice to feel proud about who a granddaughter has chosen."

That comment seemed 'off' to Daria, but she thanked her gran anyway.

* * *

"I know there's that whole 'bad luck to see the bride early' thing, but it's really _boring_here when everyone else is outside!" protested Erin. "Can we at least smuggle food?"

"No, Erin, nobody's touching that until the goddamn reception!" snapped Rita. A second later, she looked contrite: "Sorry, dear, I just want everything to work out. Your grandmother's here and everything, and with her funding it-"

"Okay." Erin flomped into the room's one seat. "When's the next priest getting here then?"

"Next _imam_. It was the closest I could get, and I had to promise to set up an autocue for the ceremony for him."

The bride didn't respond, and let her mother walk out to try and restore order from the chaos. She didn't respond to anything when she was on her own either.

She responded quite suddenly when Andrew Landon stuck his head into the door.

"Andrew! Erm, er, I, I – should you really-"

"Don't get so worried, Erin!" he said with a smile. "My rising star employee and a personal friend? I don't need an ulterior motive to come along and see you off!"

Erin raised a doubting eyebrow.

"Alright, alright, you got me," he laughed. "I also really wanted to have sex with you in that dress."

"I figured."

"The new priest is going to be a while coming..."

* * *

"Durrr-dada-DURRRR, dadaDURRR!" cheered Gordon and Jake.

"I _loved_ that show! And then that _movie_came out, that STINKING INSULT as if there could be ANOTHER Face and Hannibal GOD DAMN YOU HOLLYWOOD!"

"I hear ya, Snake," said Gordon. "I ever tell you Rita wouldn't let me put in my will that the theme song should be played at the funeral? So, first thing I did after divorcing her..."

"Right _on!_"

Helen pushed past them, a half-empty beer can in her hands, and paused to growl "first against the fucking wall" at Gordon.

"Don't worry, she's just sayin' that," said Jake. "That beer's our wedding present for little Erin! Well, erm, not that can specifically, the box and—heyyyy, now I think of it, that can specifically _was_part of the present..."

"WHY ISN'T THERE A FUCKING AUTOCUE!" roared Rita, terrifying a bridesmaid to tears. "Goddamn cheap-ass resort, can't believe-"

"Clearly I haven't missed much over the last seventeen years," said Gordon quietly.

Rita, looking for something to vent on, snapped round to Gordon: "And _damn it_, Gordon, why couldn't you have left well alone? You haven't been part of Erin's life in years, you weren't invited-"

"Erin invited me," he snapped.

She looked like she'd been slapped.

"She- she never told... I see."

Up above, the clouds rumbled again.

* * *

"_Mother!_" said Helen, making it sound like a vicious insult, chugging beer after words. "Being selective who you talk to, I see!"

Daria stood bolt upright, eyes wide. She looked directly at her mother, trying for eye contact: _please stop,_she willed.

"Helen." Edie's voice took on a contemptuous edge that Daria hadn't heard before. "Since _I_didn't want to make a scene, I saw no point in talking to you."

"Yes, you're famous for not liking scenes. Oh, except that last Christmas dinner before Amy left home-"

"_I'm not talking about that, Helen._"

Helen looked down at her, hate in her eyes. "No, that might make you _look_bad if you said what you really wanted to-"

Daria got up and walked off.

"Brilliant, Helen. I don't know how in God's name you ever managed to raise a girl like that."

"Oh, _now _you like her, but all that goddamn bullshit when she was younger, telling her-"

"Telling her to be sociable and not close herself off, doing _your job_, Helen."

"Because god forbid Daria be a quiet girl, eh?" She bent down closer and whispered: "You fucked up raising _us_. You're not taking Daria with you."

"You never could understand someone would want to take amends, Helen. That would require you to realise you'd made mistakes."

They stared each other down for a long time before separating.

* * *

"And _that_," said Quinn to the bridesmaids, "is how you knock some twat out with a chair and make it look like an accident."

"Wow," said a stunned girl.

* * *

"So they said to me: Why don't we just make you VP and have you take over the whole damn operation?" said Paul to Jake and a very annoyed Gordon. "And here I was, just 29 years old!"

"Yeah, you mentioned," said Gordon coolly.

"So, how'd you meet Rita?" asked Jake, desperate to change the subject.

"Well, Jake, we both love the sea. I have a sailboat-"

"And she's a little dingy!" chorused Jake and Gordon, before high-fiving.

"Er, hahah. Rita's a little flighty, of course, but she's a _tiger_in the bedroom." He wiggled his eyebrows. "You take the good with the bad, am I right?"

"I thought that once too," said Gordon.

"You know, I'm going to get some of that beer, you want some Gordo, Paul?"

"Yes."

* * *

"Hey, beer!" Amy greeted Helen. "Where'd you get that?"

"Well, Erin's not using them yet-"

"You _stole _from the wedding pres-"

"Mother's got it into her fucking head that Daria is her redemption for being a fuck up. She won't stop spreading her shit around when she has that in mind."

"For God's sake!" Amy almost walked off, but turned back to snap: "I will not apologise for keeping Daria's confidence, alright? If she didn't want to tell you about Mother, that's between you and her."

"Oh yes, can't be a snitch - you're supposed to think what's best for _her_, not what's best for your personal image-"

"If you're going to tell me I take after Mother in that respect, or anything along those lines, I will fucking belt you one, I don't care where we are."

There was nothing else coming from Helen after that. Amy walked off.

* * *

Brian sat in the room on his own, keeping himself amused with the fiftieth game of Angry Birds. Ha ha, those whacky birds!

He was pretty sure the wedding should have started by now, but what did he know about that stuff? That was chick stuff! Anyway, if anything had gone wrong, somebody would've come and told him by now.

* * *

Someone had found Rita some pieces of cardboard and a marker pen, and she was hurriedly writing down how she thought the wedding vows went.

"What's going on?" asked that strange woman – Mrs Landon, that was it.

"Oh, hello Mrs Landon-"

"Please, call me Michelle."

"Michelle. We can't get a priest as it turns out, so I've had to hire an imam-"

"An imam?" Michelle looked disgusted. "Marriage is a sacred, vital part of culture and you're taking a Christian marriage and having an _imam_do it?"

Rita, at breaking point, opened her mouth...

Halfway across the concourse, Quinn and the bridesmaids snapped their heads up.

"Whoa! That was the loudest swearing I've ever heard! ROCK!" Pause. "Come on, everyone, _headbang!_"

* * *

Luhrman came over to Daria, just in time to distract her from the emotional churning in her head.

"The first person to ask if we can eat yet will become a social pariah," he told her. "I'm going to do it."

"Luhrman, you're a gentlemen and a scholar. Wanna swap emails?"

"I'd say we could keep in contact via Facebook, but that's for people with friends."

"I've got a boyfriend, but A for effort."

* * *

Jake was losing his grip on sanity. Paul had been the most boring, annoying fart – and a great eggy one at that – at Scouts, and he'd only gotten boringer, annoyinger and fartier as an adult. He was starting to crush his beer can on instinct. He couldn't take hearing another bit of talk about Paul's corporate job or Rita being Rita or blah blah.

"-and that Brian, he's perfect – reminds me of a young me! I remember at that age, just got the job of a lifetime at-"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! **SHUT UP!**"

Yelled Gordon.

"Awww, you _did _listen to that Black Flag CD I gave you!"

* * *

The instant Luhrman raised his voice and asked about eating the food, it started to rain all over the expensive outdoor wedding ornaments.

"AAAARRRRRGGGGGGG!" yelled Rita.

Edie Barksdale saw this and shook her head.

* * *

Inside, there was nothing to stop the wedding dinner being ravaged, but the weather seemed to have wrecked everyone's mood. Further.

Wordlessly, Helen was handing out beer to everyone. Amy took two cans, yelled "COMBO!", and downed them both at once.

When Daria saw her grandmother coming over, with her mother not far away, she abruptly said to Luhrman: "Want to go look around the resort?"

"No."

"It's that or stay here."

"In that case, fine."

* * *

Erin and Andrew were still going away, Erin gagged by her own veil, and didn't hear the door open.

They _did_ hear a voice drone "I wondered if anyone liked the groom, and now I know – they don't" before the door shut.

* * *

Daria staggered back to the reception in a state of shell-shock. That had not been something she'd _ever_ wanted to see. And while the idea of Erin and Andrew having an affair was funny as a concept – especially because it pissed all over Jodie's smug worldview – it was a lot less funny to find out it was going _that_far.

In one corner, Gordon, Jake and Amy were downing beer. Most other people were giving them a wide berth, including Helen who'd bunked down with Quinn. Daria started walking towards Amy – she needed _someone _to talk to – and then stopped, not sure she wanted to talk to her aunt right now.

She wanted to talk to Edie Barksdale, but she couldn't tell her _that _about Erin. So Amy it was.

"Ummm... Aunt Amy?"

"Heyyy, how's my fave niece? You want a can?"

"Can I talk to you privately for a second?"

Amy grimaced. "Ahhh... sorry, sprat, right now's not that best time for secret stuff, your mother's already pissed over the last one."

"She can sure get pissed, especially _when _pissed!" laughed Jake. "That was a joke!"

Aunt Amy had always – _always_– been ready to hear when Daria had a problem.

Aunt Amy had always been someone Daria knew as well, but that was out.

Daria muttered "it's nothing" and walked off to a private corner. She could talk to Tom. He'd be able to-

_"Presumably he'll be transferred to Fielding at some point?"_

She'd talk to Jane.

* * *

"This is a nightmare!" cried Paul Meyerson as he walked into Brian's room without knocking. "You might as well come out and join the reception party, we're long past the 'bad luck' phase..."

"Something's gone wrong?" asked Brian.

"What _hasn't_gone wrong! Come on, Brian, haven't you been paying attention?"

"I've been _waiting here_for the past two hours! Something's gone wrong?"

Paul looked aghast. "Oh," was all he said, an 'oh' that said a lot to Brian about why he'd been waiting for two hours.

* * *

Quinn had abruptly got bored and walked off, bridesmaids in tow, to see if they could find "something to scav". (The bridesmaids seemed unclear what that meant but they'd been clearly bored) That left Helen on her own, unless she was willing to sit at a table with Amy now.

She could hardly sit with Daria. Not after that last scene with Mother. She knew that was the wrong way to go about it, she _knew_ it made Mother look like the reasonable one and it mortified her daughter and she couldn't explain the problem properly this way, but the _thought _of that bitch and her daughter, the memory of this shy, fragile little thing admitting that she got upset when her Gran came round because she thought there was something wrong with her –

Amy could reach Daria better, she'd known that for years. Daria reminded her sister of herself; Helen kept relations going with Amy for her daughter's sake, because she needed _someone_ on her wavelength and that wasn't _her_. But Amy had screwed the pooch this time round, and that meant Helen had to rely on herself, and that meant...

She couldn't face what that could mean.

* * *

"I wish you'd talked to Tom," Jane told her. "He's from the upper crust, they're all doing that – he'd have a million helpful anecdotes."

"I'll settle for someone who can agree 'ick' with me and who I can safely talk to."

"This bothers you, and not just because of the ick. Let me guess: this is you thinking that you should have noticed before, realised Erin was that unhappy, done something about it?"

"That's a distinct possibility."

"Well, the first two points are right, you should have. Sorry, honest as a used car salesman, that's me. But what would you have done?"

"Talked to her, I guess." Daria sighed. "I don't know if _anyone _did."

* * *

Andrew had rested for a few minutes and now had his third wind up (he'd thought of a whole new scenario), and so neither of them heard the door open.

They did hear a voice squeak out "FUCKING HELL!", pause, and say "LITERALLY!"

That was a voice Erin recognised. And behind it, lots of shocked gasps and she recognised them too, knew every girl giving them and they knew her.

"Dude, your butt is huge," stated Quinn.

"D-Do you girls mind..." Andrew gave up, unable to go back into his patter with people staring at him like this.

Erin couldn't even say "um", her old standby. Her mind had shut down and was teetering over a dark pit.

A huge, silly grin was on Quinn's face, and she turned and left. It took longer for the bridesmaids to follow her, and their looks of horror and disgust stayed behind.

She willed Andrew to say something, to take proper note of what had just happened, knowing beyond a doubt what he was really going to say and do.

"Well, _that _was a mood killer, but I think I can get back into the swing-"

She began to get dressed.

* * *

"You were all eating cake and nobody fetched me?" said Brian, looking at the scene.

"Sorry?" offered Paul, weakly.

* * *

"WILD STALLIONS!" chorused the three wise drinkers, followed by all three unleashing their air guitar.

Edie Barksdale had been passing and gave them a withering look, which prompted Amy to spit out: _"Christmas is my fave-rit time of ye-eeeaaarrr!"_

Rage slipped out from behind Edie's mask, but she didn't say anything.

"Christ- oh, _that _Christmas, right?" Gordon began to chuckle. "You weren't there, Snake, you had to go to your own family-"

"Ohhhh! _That!_ Man, that sounds like a _picnic_compared to Christmas WITH THAT UNFEELING BASTARD-"

"Everything I did and my daughters end up like this and with people like you," spat the old woman. "I'm just glad Don isn't alive to see this-"

* * *

When Erin entered the reception, the bridesmaid's stopped the conversations they were in. Very pointedly, they stopped them. Even Daria could read a cue like that.

The secret was out then. And she could see Brian was across the room but knew everyone would know _except _him, because nobody would want to cause a scene. And because nobody liked him and never had.

She tried to take controlled breaths when Aunt Amy flung the contents of a beer can at Grandma.

* * *

"I am going to have to call you back," said Daria in a small, quiet voice before hanging up.

This was far, far worse than her mother's display earlier.

"HOW **DARE **YOU"

"YOU DON'T FUCKING BRING UP DADDY, YOU DON'T EVER"

"GODDAMN DISGRACE, I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU"

"NEVER DID LIKE IT WHEN YOU HAD TO FACE CONSEQUENCES DID YOU"

Her mother was laughing. Aunt Rita looked appalled but was doing nothing. Dad was trying to leave the room.

And then Erin spoke and the walls of Jericho shattered.

**"WILL YOU BOTH SHUT THE GODDAMN HELL UP!"**

Rita and Edie looked too shocked to rebuke her.

"Don't you even _think_ about telling me off for making a scene, maybe I did it more often I wouldn't be _standing in the shit _like this – as pathetic as Aunt Helen and her fucking coven are, at least they don't let someone box them into a fucking box for their own image!" Erin was barely pausing for breath, letting everything she'd repressed for months come out in a wave of spittle and rage. "This wedding, this fucking wedding – this is all, all mirrors and smoke, you just want it to look good so you can pretend you wanted me to get married!

"And oh yes, Brian is fucking worthless but that never bothered you about Paul or Bruno or any other of the other _troglodytes_ you keep dragging round the house every four months and forcing me to play stepdaughter to and you wonder why I left home the damn_ instant_ I was laid off from work and had an excuse to move? Any wonder _I_ stick with _my_ troglodyte after watching _you_piss it up every third of the year?"

She rounded on Gordon, eyes accusing: "Don't _you_ ever _think it_, Daddy, I haven't seen you in years and so what if you can't stand Mother _you could work something out but you don't!_" Back round came the bile: "And Aunt Amy! Brilliant damn advice, _brilliant_, you sure know about horrible shitty relationships only you forgot to give me anything more practical like _what happens if my boss is such a creepy pushy bastard he follows me YEAH THAT'S RIGHT I'VE BEEN HAVING SEX WITH BOSS ANDREW LANDON __**WE DID IT TWO MINUTES AGO!**_"

Unnoticed by all but Andrew and Daria, Michelle Landon covered her mouth with her hand and ran out. Andrew looked at Erin with horror, as you would at someone who just lied about you, and then ran after his wife.

"Well, that's me _fired_, I guess, _and_ the wedding off too! Are we having FUN yet?" Erin whirled on Helen. "_Are_ we, Hellion Wheels? Is this _punk_ enough for you? Maybe if I was doing this at 3 fucking AM and shoving it down your throat every damn time we met, that'd be punk, right? Christ, and your hellspawn is _worse_ than you, you must have really _worked_ at that – and don't think _you're_ out of it, Daria, you made it clear you knew the marriage was failing and you snarked about it _snarked about it what use could you be to anyone?_

"And a big thank you I MEAN FUCK YOU to all my friends who had to walk in and decided to snitch about me behind my back, well I'm sure _glad_ I wasted years of my life with you and tried to act all sympathetic with your problems, _a total waste!_"

Nobody spoke or moved, and some tried not to breathe. Nobody wanted to bring attention to themselves. Nobody wanted Erin to turn on them.

With her rant finished, she seemed smaller, deflated.

"I hate every damn one of you," she said, before walking out.

* * *

The imam turned up just as Brian left the resort; the imam growled and left himself, muttering "I missed Dexter for this".

* * *

Nobody wanted to talk to anyone after the outburst. Some people were finding it hard to look at each other.

Daria had been trembling for a bit, but when her mother came over Daria pointedly moved away. Helen stood there anyway, clearly wanting her to come over, so she said "I've had enough of people yelling for one day, Mum, I don't a rerun of you throwing crap everywhere".

"Daria, I-"

"I don't want to hear excuses for it!" she yelled.

Nobody looked over at the noise; they didn't want to bring any more of it on themselves. People were starting to trickle out, and Daria saw that her grandmother had been one of the first to leave. So that relationship might be wrecked before it properly started.

_Thank you, Mum. Thank you all._

Amy hadn't moved from her seat. Striding away from Helen brought Daria in range of her aunt, and Amy looked at her with shocked, disappointed eyes.

"You really could tell something was wrong with Erin and didn't do anything?"

"I didn't realise that was my job."

"Oh, _Daria_. I thought-"

"I thought _you_ trusted _me _the way I trusted you-"

"Oh, for Christ's _sake!_" Amy yelled, the first time Daria could remember her yelling at her. "If you're going to change the subject, don't change it to _that _whinefest!"

"I thought I knew you and it turns out I don't and after all I've told you, all of it, I don't know who you really are!"

Amy's eyes narrowed. "All right, fine. I've had four divorces. I have cheated on people. I have had an abortion. You _happy_ now, Daria? You looking for more? Fine, how about that Christmas I took a _girlfriend_ to dinner and Mother went _completely apeshit_ because she and everyone else damn well knew that wasn't _just_ me 'creating a scene', and a _dyke_ in the family is just _not done_, that enough for you yet? _Why would I tell you that IT'S NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS!_"

"_I TELL YOU EVERYTHING!_"

"_Girl_ stuff! Why'd I tell you _adult things _when you can't even be mature enough to look out for your cousin when she's in the shit and you see it daily!"

For years, Daria had seen her immediate family swear and fume and turn to violence. That, she'd known, was how other people dealt with problems and not a way she should try. But right here, right now, after that big a betrayal, she wanted to do it.

The old armour wrapped around her, keeping her safe.

"Well, I guess I'm receiving one less birthday present this year. On the bright side, I get to save money from one too."

She left before the armour could slip. Amy watched her go.

She watched her for a long time, long past the point when a woman could feasibly call out and apologise and try to make amends, before muttering "damn it" and taking another drink.

* * *

In the car ride home, Jake was the only one who talked, desperately trying to fill the great abyss. Daria met everything he said with instinctive sarcasm, so he tried to talk on his own in a great rambling anecdote.

After a while, he said nothing at all.

Daria had a text from Jane, asking if she was alright. 'Happy as DeMartino on a planet full of Kevins' she texted back.

She didn't answer the rest.

* * *

When they got home, Erin was in the lounge, drinking a cup of tea and looking sullen. Her wedding dress had been torn off.

"All my stuff is here," she said.

Even Jake knew better than to say anything. Even Jake knew Brian, stuff or no stuff, would never be coming back.

* * *

Daria went to her room and shut the door, ready for an early night. She wanted to talk to Tom, but she didn't want to talk to Tom. She couldn't talk to her parents. She could never talk to Aunt Amy.

She stared at the wall for a good long time, and then kicked it viciously.

_"DAMN IT!"_

It was a long time that night before she could get to sleep.

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Gordon, Erin's dad, comes from 'Moving Pictures' by Brian Taylor, who suggested some ideas for Amy and Rita's "that contest" line. Quiverwing suggested why Andrew came to the wedding.

Things are about to get darker for the next few chapters…


	17. Bits and Pierces

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 17: Bits and Pierces**

No matter how hard Daria concentrated, school refused to start at a later hour and that meant every day she had to eat breakfast at the same time Quinn and her parents did. (Except when her parents were hungover and sleeping it off, which had happened on two blissful days this week – Quinn, sadly, was too strong to be felled by drink)

Another breakfast with her and her mother trying not to look at each other, and Quinn looking unsure about whether to speak, and Jake speaking _as much as possible._

"Dingo and Willow, man, the old band back together for the weekend! Man, the last time they saw you girls, you were so young-"

"It was Christmas, Dad."

"Oh. Yeah. Well... erm... _Quinn! _I bet they'll love your new hair style!"

"Classic mid-80s bleach-blonde waves and spiky fringe!" she said proudly. "Angel helped me do it but mine beats hers, of course, I mean duh, it does right?"

"Sure, kiddo! You SHOW that Angel dude!" He started to scowl. "Lousy poseur, helping convince people that vampires were sexy love interests YOU CAUSED TWILIGHT YOU SOUL-HAVING BASTARD NO WONDER SPIKE HATED YOU!"

Daria let her head slowly bonk on the table.

Erin, as usual, lurched into the kitchen and savagely began to slam bread into the toaster and coffee beans into a cup, giving no sign she recognised the existence of everyone else.

"Hey, Erin!" said Jake, desperately. "How's... um... _anyone seen the paper?_"

* * *

"That offer of staying round my house is still there," said Jane, as the girls waited in the security line for school.

"I didn't want to impose. I've changed my mind though. Get ready to be posed." Daria shut her eyes. "It's been a whole _week_ since Weddignarok and those god corpses just lie there festering. Erin has only talked to anyone once, and that was only because Dad asked if she wanted some of his _penne a la pesto_. She said no."

"That's just common sense."

"I really want to get out of there, and not just because two of Mum and Dad's friends are coming up to help them pretend the early 80s never ended."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "You don't usually sound that bitter about them."

"I'm just getting sick of the whole thing. You know what it's like, having parents that have to build their entire lives around an attempt at being 'counter-cultural', in ways that look sad when people our age do it? And should I next ask Johann Strauss if he knows any good tunes?"

"Heh. Well, I had Trent to look out for me; that helped. And... well, I'll be honest, neglect aside, _I'd_want to run off to Death Valley during summer to sketch things."

Daria sighed. "I wish I could talk about this with Tom."

"You can. It's easy. You open your mouth and make words."

"He wouldn't know what to say back."

"How do you know?"

"Oh look, it's our turn to go through security."

"Handy for you, huh?"

Man-mountain Steve wheeled a polygraph on a trolley over to them. "Are you taking drugs?"

"Yes," said Daria.

"I'm high on life!" squeed Jane. "That's a street name for crack!"

Steve checked the polygraph readout. "Hmm. Okay, you're clear." After the girls left, he turned to Burnout Girl and Shaggy: "Are you taking drugs?"

"...no?"

"Huh?"

Steve checked the polygraph readout. "Okay, you're clear."

"...we _are?_"

"Fine, I admit I didn't read the manual for this thing _all _the way through..."

* * *

On the way into Maths class, Daria and Tom ran into each other.

And into Jodie.

Like she had every single day this week, Daria looked down at her boots and not at the fury in the other girl's eyes, a fury that wanted an easy, _outside _target so it wouldn't have to try and target the real cause.

"My dad still hasn't moved back in," she hissed. "I bet you'll be glad to know that. It's _funny_, isn't it Daria?"

"No it's not," mumbled Daria, not looking up.

"_Sure_ it is! A good man gets wrecked by some slut and you can all have a nice big laugh about how the proper family and decent values got shown up, that's _hilarious_, pity he didn't turn out to be gay isn't it?"

Behind her, two girls – one of the Jennifers and Priscilla – entered classroom, glancing at Jodie and having a muffled conversation. One of them giggled. Jodie showed no sign she'd heard that. She'd been hearing no such thing since Wednesday, when a local newspaper had "heard rumours" about Andrew's affair. (Nobody knew who the leak had been) Jodie's dominance in extracurricular groups had given her power but after two years of a righter-than-thou attitude, few students were upset to see her take a fall.

"Just because _your _family-"

"I'm with you, Jodie," said Tom. "It's been scientifically proven that young female employees can telepathically control the hormones of middle-aged married men – one zap and _bam! _No escape! Your father is clearly a blameless victim."

For a second, Jodie looked like she was going to strike him. The second passed, her face crumpled, and she ran off.

"Well, I know we were all _thinking _that..." said Jane slowly.

"Yeah, but I just got sick of it," he said. "And I thought I better get in before Daria let rip over that 'family' bit. _My _comments only leave walking wounded!"

"Yeah," said Daria, who hadn't actually been thinking of saying anything.

* * *

Entering the house, Daria took a deep breath; her mother was the only one there. This would require contact.

"Mum? Can I spend the weekend at Jane's?"

Helen looked at her daughter with the same uncomfortable, sad look she'd given her since the wedding. "Sure, Daria. That's no problem."

"I _will _be coming back," she said, not sure why. "All my stuff's here and then there's Dad's cooking."

"You always did like chemistry experiments," Helen said, a faint smile on her lips.

Daria was able to pack quickly, since 'clothes' and 'Daria' were not speaking terms. She also briefly, on impulse, put a quick call in to her grandmother. When catching only voice mail, she hesitated and just briefly mentioned she was staying at a friend's house.

She also sent a text to Tom, filling him in on the trip.

Tom replied almost immediately: "Save space fr me; will bring Transmorphers DVD fr snark".

"Good boyfriend," she texted back.

* * *

"So Daria's at Jane's, Quinn's off having fun throwing eggs at Schrecter's house, and Erin's... er... well, we don't want to know that." Jake clasped his hands together and gave a winning smile. "Adults Only night! That'll _rock! _We can have competitive belching competitions!"

Helen smiled back at him; he really was trying to help. "Did we ever beat Dingo and Willow?"

"_No one_ beats Dingo and Willow at bodily functions!" said a happy Jake. "I heard they've _both _tripled!"

"That _is _impressive – ooh! Here they come now! Is my hair okay?"

"Yellow and black, colours of _sexy_danger! Rrrrr!"

The familiar sight of the Yeager's car came driving up, pulling to a stop outside their house.

And out of it came the very unfamiliar sight of Dingo and Willow in smart, sensible suits.

Dingo had a tie.

"Mum lied to me THE BODYSNATCHERS _ARE_ REAL!" screamed Jake.

* * *

When Daria entered the Lane's home, Mystik Spiral were set up in the kitchen and going over a storyboard (done with stick figures).

"If we're going to do a music video, we need to be HARSH! _HARSH!_" yelled Max, thumping the table. "This crap won't work! We need... we need smoke and fire and some stuff exploding and some girls with few clothes!" He looked over at Daria thoughtfully, then went "nah".

"What's the budget for this thing then?" asked Nick.

"Budget?" asked Jesse.

"Whoa, let's not go _too _far," said Trent. "Hey Daria, you're smart. Any ideas for what we should do for a music video?"

"Well if you want to show how unique and non-conformist you are, do one where you're gardening," said Daria, heading up the stairs. "That'd be _really _different."

Trent's brow furrowed in thought. "Hmmmm."

"I'm not sure that'd fit with the lyrics for Set Fire To Everything," said Nick.

"Maybe that would make it fit _better_..."

* * *

"You... you haven't been to a funeral, have you?" pleaded Helen.

Willow laughed. "Oh no, no, we just had to come straight from work."

"...work."

"InterVestMint Bank up in Baltimore," said Dingo.

"..._bank._"

"Y-You robbed it, right?" whimpered Jake. "Please tell me you committed a robbery!"

The Yeager's looked at each other, pained expressions on their faces. Dingo nodded to his wife and took a step forward, facing both punks.

"Jake, Helen... the truth is, we've been working at InterVestMint for two years now."

Silence.

"They had us asset-strip a bunch of companies that were struggling during the recession."

Silence.

"And... well, people tend to call me Pete instead of Dingo now."

"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR"

* * *

"Trent and the boys are weeding your back garden," said Tom went he came into Jane's room.

"Huh." Jane was concerned. "We won't _have _a back garden if they do that."

"Anyway, I brought Transmorphers! World's worst CGI!"

"I brought Manos, Hands of Fate!"

"I brought Twilight," said Daria.

"You win."

"I don't think I _can _snark Twilight," said Tom. "I don't think I have the strength of will."

"Week I've had, I've got enough venom for a whole desert of rattlesnakes," said Daria. "Do these things in alphabetical order?"

"Sure. And first one here to go to the toilet is the loser!"

_Why did I have that Coke on the way here?_thought Tom.

* * *

"RRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!"

Then Jake fell over, gasping and clutching his chest.

"_See what you've done?_" yelled Helen.

"Oh man, _Jake!_" cried Pete, looking distraught. "I'm sorry man, I forgot-"

"Man?" Jake looked down at himself. "_I'm _a Man too? AAAAAG-" and promptly managed to fall over despite being still fallen.

"This isn't going the way we'd hoped," said Willow.

Helen helped her husband back to his feet and taking deep, controlled breaths. Pete had moved forward to help but was gestured to stay where he was. Once Jake was recovered, he turned back to the Yeager's.

"You once got so drunk, you both simultaneously let loose with three bodily functions on a bus," said Jake sadly. "Now look at you. _WHY DO YOU ALWAYS TAKE THE GOOD ONES WORLD?_"

"Oh god, don't remind me about the tripling," said Pete.

"Um... look, Helen, Jake..." Willow looked like she'd rather be anywhere but here. "We wanted to come clean. See, we... we gave up being punks full time a number of years ago, really. It was the only way to get a proper job. We only got the leather and piercings out when we were visiting you – for a bit of fun and old time's sake, y'know?"

Helen's mouth dropped open. "You were... you were _pseudo-punks?_"

"And, well, we... well look, we're in our mid forties now. It was getting... _silly_to keep pretending we were still teenagers. We had to come clean."

"_Silly?_" snarled the forty-five year old woman in ripped leather and with giant yellow-and-black hair.

"Well... silly for _us_," said Pete. "Obviously _other_people can still pull it off!"

Jake took several menacing steps to his old friend and slammed a defiant hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, pal," he said. "It's going to be all right. We can help you. Hellion: _get the live concert CDs._"

* * *

"God _damn it _hoisted by my own petard!" snarled Jane as she fled to the bathroom.

"Alone in a bedroom," said Tom, putting an arm around Daria. "See, we should have done film night at _my _house."

"What, you think your manly charms are _that _good?"

"Sure."

Daria kissed him. "Darn your accuracy."

"This is the happiest I've seen you all week. It scares me. I miss grumpy Daria."

"Yeah, well... er..." She sighed. "I don't really like talking about it."

"But you talk to Jane about it." He smiled weakly when she stared at him in shock. "Gotcha."

She didn't respond.

"Look, Daria, I'm glad if you can talk to Jane about it and that helps you, I mean it. I'd just like to know if there's something _I've_done that means you don't want to talk to me about it."

"No, it's just... well, you have a _normal _family. I'm pretending Elsie doesn't exist for the purposes of this conversation. But you have normal parents."

"Oh, that. My family may be more... conventional than yours, but if it helps I can tell you that my parents are really embarrassing, we have some deep dark secrets, and we totally hate other branches of the family." Tom shrugged. "Is that the only reason? Because-"

"Are you going back to Fielding?"

There, she'd said it.

"Ah."

* * *

McGrundy's was a place where everybody knew your name, and that name was "Allie C. O'Holic".

Erin could only drink so much in one night without being ill, and nursed her one beer for hours. In the background, a radio played nothing but sad, country and western songs (McGrundy knew what type of people turned up at his bar _this _early). The only thing Erin paid attention to was the clock, making sure she'd be out before the happy drinkers came and the radio started playing the least authentic "Irish" songs ever.

With five minutes since the last, she took another drink.

_I should really bring a book or something,_she thought to herself.

"Is THIS seat taKEN? It is NOW!" The angry man sat down, taking a huge gulp from his glass and growling something about "rasserFRASsing HOMEwork".

"This better not be a prelude to hitting on me, or I'll have to headbutt you. And if I did that, I'd have to kill myself because I'd finally be lost."

"HA! Don't FLATTER yourself, LADY!"

_Like this joker could ever handle the stuff_ I've _been into, _they both thought.

"I've been MARKing homework ASSIGNMENTS about the RevolUTION." He gulped again. "I'm ONLY here because I NEED beer to NOT KILL MYSELF with my own RED PEN!"

"I'm here because I've ruined and wasted my life."

"…YOU'RE a teacher too?"

* * *

Thundering sounds of Agent Orange filled every room of the Morgendorffers house, but the Yeager's just shook their heads.

"I _remember _liking that song," said Willow.

Helen swapped out the CD for Black Flag but got the same response.

"Now I think of it, these bands do shout a lot more than sing," said Pete.

"Snake, we're going to have to go for the big guns," said Helen grimly.

"You don't mean…"

"_Break out the cassette tapes._"

"Oh. What _do _you mean?"

* * *

"That's it?" asked Daria. "'Ah'?"

"I was hoping you'd carry on talking after that and then I'd know how to avoid putting my foot in my mouth," said Tom.

"No such luck."

"It's a safe assumption that I'll be going to Fielding in the next academic year, yes."

"Do you _want _to go back to Fielding?"

"I never went to Fielding in the first place, remember?"

"You know what I mean."

"I'm guessing 'back to Fielding' is shorthand for 'Planet Upper Crust'."

"It's a safe assumption."

"Because I _do _want to go to Fielding, but that doesn't mean I want to take up golf on yachts."

"But you'd…" Daria hated this, hated finding it hard to think of the right words when she never had that problem outside of these conversations. "You'd be _there _and I'd be somewhere else."

"I'm not moving house, Daria. We won't be able to see each other at school anymore, true, but we'll still see each other."

"Um…"

"You're worried I'll get bored," said Tom, letting some irritation show. "We've been down this road before: I realise my family's world leaves you on edge and uncomfortable, and we've been thrown together by chance and wouldn't have met in a different world, but _I'm not going anywhere_."

"I've had enough of losing people," she said quietly. "It keeps happening."

"Well, I'm staying put." He thought about that. "I mean in general. Not in Jane's room specifically."

"Hmm. That's a thought: _Jane! _How much did you overhear?"

"You're done?" came back Jane's voice on the other side of the door. "Sweet zombie Jesus, I came back and you were talking seriously and I thought you were almost finished _but on it went. _You two kissing in there or can I come back?"

Daria and Tom looked at each other.

"…my own petard once more, huh?" said Jane.

* * *

The worst punk song heard by human ears rattled the windows of the house. Stone Groove: the crappest of the crap, the very essence of random teenagers banging on instruments.

The garage band Snake, Hellion, Dingo and Willow had been in way back when.

"When we played, Rita wouldn't come back into the house for _two hours!_" said Helen, wrapped up in nostalgia.

"Remember, remember, that noise there is where Pete- where _Dingo_ dropped his guitar and _trod _on it!" cried Jake. "Man, we coulda been HUGE!"

The Yeager's looked at each other, slightly embarrassed.

"It's been so _long _since I played the drums, do we still have the kit?"

"I don't think so, dear. My, we sound so young in that tape, so…" Pete struggled for the word. "…unpolished?"

"Lessons are for _fascists!_" yelled Helen, headbanging.

"That's quite dismissive, Helen."

"That's what _you _said during practise."

"It is!" said Willow, remembering. "You said it all the time!"

"I think I was just too cheap to pay for lessons, to tell you the truth," said Pete.

The Morgendorffers' faces fell.

"Don't you remember the _rock_, man?" pleaded Jake.

"It's… it's, I dunno, we're too far into our forties. I can't remember the last time I even played one of our punk CDs at home." Pete shrugged. "We've just grown up, really."

"_When I see the price you pay, I don't wanna grow-_" Jake stopped, embarrassed. "Heh, sorry man, force of habit."

Silence reigned.

* * *

The Yeager's had been gone for hours, too embarrassed to stay. Erin had returned, somewhat sloshed and grumbling before barring herself in her room. With both daughters out, that left Helen and Jake to nurse their sorrows.

"We knew this day would come eventually," said Helen. "We knew _someone _would sell out and get old."

"But _Dingo and Willow?_ Damn it! _Nothing's _sacred!"

"Nothing remains," she muttered.

"Come on, honey, Daria's just staying in a mood."

Helen looked at him, startled. "How did—Hrr. I _hope _it's just a mood. I really do."

Before Twilight could be played, Daria's phone rang: her grandmother.

"Hi, gran. You kinda caught me at a bad time-"

"No she hasn't!" called Tom. "Tell her to talk for as long as possible!"

"That'll only _prolong _the film," said Jane.

"That's Tom and Jane in the background. Yes, that T-" Daria went quiet for a long time, then said "I'll see."

She turned to Tom: "Ummm… Gran wants me to visit her next week, and said since I'd need a lift there and she wants to meet you, then… er…"

"Next week as in… week_day_? Missing school?"

"Yeah."

"Oh _god_yes."

THE END

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Stone Groove is another element pinched from 'Moving Pictures', as was Coyote Yeager from "That Was Then, This Is Dumb" having the more punkish name Dingo. The concept of tripling – three body functions in one go! – comes from the TV show Misfits. McGrundy's is a pub from the book The Daria Diaries, listed as a Lawndale location and a Spiral gig (before The Zon was invented)


	18. A Gran Day Out

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 18: A Gran Day Out**

Daria knew that her parents wouldn't be happy about her visiting Grandma Barksdale, but she'd lived with them for sixteen years and knew exactly the right buttons to press:

"Oh, Mum: tomorrow, I'm going to ditch school to see Gran and I've got my boyfriend to also ditch school and take me there, with no oversight, in his car with leather seats."

Helen looked at her, horror and joy fighting for supremacy on her face.

"How long were you plotting how to phrase that?" she asked.

"About an hour."

* * *

In a dark alleyway, Tom handed a cheque to Mr DeMartino.

"Daria and I were in school _all day _tomorrow."

"MONEY!" roared DeMartino with glee. "FInally, I can have HEATING at home AGAIN!"

"It's the love of the job that makes up for it, eh?"

"…I can BREAK this deal, ThoMAS."

* * *

When Daria emerged downstairs again, she found the rest of the family around the TV, watching footage of infants. With a sinking feeling, she realised this was old footage of her third birthday.

"Hey, look kiddo!" said Jake. "I found a box of our old home movies and had them transferred to DVD! Remember this?"

On the TV, a serious looking toddler in a green dress was smiling slightly at the sight of a cake, while a pudgy-faced, confused baby with dyed hair looked from cake to camera.

"Quinn looks confused," said Daria. "This could be _any _time."

Erin emerged from her room, where she did… whatever it was Erin did these days. She was a mix between tired and hung over, and stared with vague interest at the video footage.

As the toddler moved to blow out the candles, the baby picked up her milk bottle and started to whack the cake over and over like it wanted to give it a concussion.

"Hey! You're ruining my birthday cake!"

"Ah, so it's my last birthday," said Daria.

On the screen, the upset toddler was pounding on the table and yelling at a young punk to "make her STOP!", while the baby continued to whack away with a big happy cry of "WAAGAAAA!".

"Oh _dear_." The punk, looking a bit worried, picked the baby up and carried it off. "Jakey, get the back-up cake! I'll… move Quinn." Off she walked, bouncing the bottle-waving baby and going "Awww, you want to be just like mummy and daddy, don't you Quinny? Yes you do, yes you _do_!"

"Why can't I be an only child?"

"Why can't _I_?" said Quinn.

Daria narrowed her eyes. "Well played, sis."

"Oh _god_," said Erin, returning back to her room.

"Isn't it great to see these old family memories?" asked Jake, ignoring that last comment.

"Since we don't _speak _to most of our family, I assume the answer is no."

"Most of our family are cunts," said Quinn.

"She's right," said Helen. "_Big _cunts."

"I HOPED YOU HEARD THAT BY PSYCHIC FREQUENCY, OLD MAN!"

Daria sighed and made to leave again. Then she stopped and, without turning to face anyone, spat out: "It sure is handy that you found and transferred all those charming family memories the day before I visited Gran. I can feel the warmth and love of the ages, almost like a _message _of some kind."

"Ahahahahaha no I just erm… _Hellion?_"

Daria kept on walking, and Jake looked at the floor.

"I knew I should have started with baby footage."

"Ewwww!" said Quinn. "I've _seen_ her as a baby. She was stuck-up from _birth_."

"I appreciate the effort, Snake," said Helen, "but I did tell you I didn't think this would work."

"I know. I just wanted you to stop looking so down, y'know?"

Helen smiled. "You didn't have to do that."

"I did."

"How did you get all those tapes transferred so quickly anyway?"

"I got _contacts!_" said Jake, not admitting that he'd done it two weeks ago and then forgotten to pick them up from the shop

* * *

On her desk was a well-chewed plastic dinosaur with a worried expression. Nervous Rex. She'd got him at that birthday.

Aunt Amy had given her it.

Daria picked up the green hunk of plastic and give it a piercing look – "I should get rid of this, really. What am I going to do with it?"

She waited for a few seconds and then put it back.

* * *

When Daria came down to have an early breakfast, she found her father, surrounded by DVDs, waking up from the sofa as he sensed her presence.

"Hey, kiddo! It took a while but I found your baby footage!"

She stared at him in horror. "No."

He switched the TV on and unpaused the DVD from where he'd left it. On the screen, a very bored infant looked at the camera with annoyance. "Waagaa.", it grumped, before (very slowly) waving its arms about in an uninspired way.

"Now there's a girl who realised early on that if you want people to stop bothering you, you give them what they want. With that in mind, boy, do those videos really-"

"OH SWEET JESUS THAT'S RIGHT _WHAT HAVE I DONE?_" cried out Jake, before actually crying.

Daria, embarrassed for them both, patted him on the shoulder and said "there, there".

* * *

Tom was waiting for her in his Bentley.

"Now I know it's a bit of a drive from here to Chevy Chase, but I made sure to fill my iPod with the best songs I could and hook it up to the radio on random setting. _Behold!_"

He switched the radio on and Avril Lavigne filled the car.

"_Damn it_, Elsie!"

"Your sister hacked your iPod?"

"My sister bought a spare iPod and filled it with songs I hate _solely so she could pull this prank. _One day, this girl will be President-for-life."

"Another argument for euthanasia. Oh well, stick to the radio. Maybe Z93 will have murdered all its DJs during the night..."

(PS it hadn't)

* * *

"And here's a great rock song, and I'm gonna talk _aaaaall over it_," said Tom through gritted teeth.

"They're called Mental in the Morning because you want to murder infants after listening to them."

"Also puppies."

"That goes without saying."

They'd entered a well-heeled street with expansive lawns and shining cars. _The _house was nearing.

Tom looked at her. "You okay with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. But you look nervous."

"There's a good and logical reason for why I look like that."

She had to snark because the alternative was to try and sift between the conflicting calls to run, go in, freeze in place, what if this went wrong, what-

What if it _didn't_.

_Hell with it._

"Tom, we're going in. Operation Look Handsome And Upper-Class is a go."

"I _always _look upper-class."

* * *

Edie Barksdale was dressed and styled immaculately, and Daria felt vaguely embarrassed that she was just wearing her usual crap.

"I'm not sure why you thought you'd need combat boots," said Edie, raising an eyebrow.

"It's what I normally wear."

"We need to take you shopping."

"Daria and fashion have a special understanding," broke in Tom, "kinda like India and Pakistan."

The woman looked him up and down, from thrift shirt to old trainers, starting off with confusion and then progressing to greater confusion. "Tom Sloane? You're... not quite what I expected."

Daria was starting to fidget. "Um. So, gran-"

"I'm sorry, I'm forgetting my manners, you'll be hungry after the drive. I normally eat later in the day, but I hope an early lunch will be alright. I've made arrangements at the country club."

"You don't have to splash out on our behalf."

"Oh no, I always try to eat out these days – cooking's a bother these days, and I'm not paying someone to cook for me."

When Daria didn't leap on that immediately, Tom gave her a confused look; he nodded his head towards the woman, the universal 'should I?' gesture. Daria shook her head. Edie didn't pick this up.

"This is a nice place, Mrs Barksdale," said Tom, trying to fill the gaps.

"Thank you, Tom."

Pause.

"You heard Daria's on track to get the top grades in our year?" he tried again.

"If you stay awake in class, you're on track for that at Lawndale High," said Daria.

"Now don't make light, Daria, that's a grand achievement," said Edie. "You should be proud of that."

Pause again.

_I'm actually missing Quinn and her constant loud babbling,_ Daria thought. _God save me._

* * *

The country club was the same as Sedimentary Rock back in Lawndale, in all the ways that counted: everything about it was aggressively reserved and tasteful, grabbing your face and screaming about how rich it was and yet had such decorum. The staff had blank expressions, and the other people in the building were the graceful old.

Tom had asked the waitress for "sauerkraut and boiled goose", and was surprised when they actually _had _sauerkraut and goose (roast). Seeing that Daria was the only one who got the reference, he ordered that to save face.

"So Tom," said Edie, with probing voice and eyes, "are you looking forward to leaving Lawndale for Fielding?"

"A little, not too much – I'm still going to _a _school."

"But _Fielding_ is more than a school, surely! The connections, the prestige, the whole package! If they'd let girls into Fielding in my time, I would have _killed _to go." She turned to Daria. "How about yourself, dear? Any dream schools of your own?"

"Um. I dunno. I haven't really thought about it."

"Colleges then? You're a bright girl: Bromwell, Crestmore, Yale? Overseas maybe?"

"I...I don't think I could afford them," she said, looking at her plate and not at her surroundings.

"Of course, I apologise. I forgot your parents had not gone for proper careers. Maybe a scholarship?"

_That'd mean answering questions like "why should we give you money" and "what are your strengths" in a non-sarcastic way. I should aim for something more realistic, like terraforming Utah._

"Maybe."

"All my family on _both _sides have gone to Bromwell," said Tom. "I'm not sure if that means Bromwell's the most awesome college that ever existed or if this is one of those It's Tradition things, like the reason we subject ourselves to family gatherings in the summer. But hey, I'm too lazy to rock the boat, so Bromwell it is!"

"Not the most ambitious of answers."

"I might apply for Raft," interrupted Daria. "That's a good college, and I could pull off paying for it."

"If money was no object?" Edie was probing again.

"Pepperhill," said Tom with a straight face.

Daria snorted with laughter at that one, though Edie just looked weary. The arrival of their orders disrupted the conversation though, and as soon as they were tucking in Daria worked to change the conversation, asking Grandma Barksdale how Aunt Rita was doing.

"We haven't been in touch that much since... that day. She was very upset with her daughter's conduct."

"Before that, my last wedding was cousin Finn's. Dad _really _wanted to finally break off ties with his side of the family, so you can guess what happened. I don't think I've been to a single normal wedding."

"I remember mine." Edie smiled, her mind's eye staring far into the distance. "Believe me, there's nothing 'normal' about any wedding. Ah, you're in for a treat."

She looked at Tom, and he looked at her, and both looked at their plates out of embarrassment.

"Though I'd keep your parents away from the reception's alcohol."

"That'd give Quinn unfettered access to it."

"God, really?" She sounded aghast. "I don't know how you cope with it sometimes."

"Um..."

"Mind if I visit the men's room?" asked Tom, sliding his chair back. "That's a rhetorical question."

* * *

When Tom called Jane, her first words where "I'm in Maths class".

"I can hear the road."

"Snoozing on the roof counts as Maths class. Or should do. It's at the same time _and_ it's snoozing, it's the full Mr Ewing experience – even _he _isn't paying attention to him. Anyway, how's the filthy criminal truancy going?"

"We're having lunch and I'm phoning you up from the club's bathrooms."

"Oh. Damn."

"Mrs Barksdale is a master of the upper-class 'I don't like you at all but it wouldn't be Done to be honest' thing. I'm having to be polite and it's driving me _mad_."

"Your sense of humour annoys someone? Say it ain't so!"

"I annoyed her since she saw what I was wearing, it's like visiting my own gran. And Daria's... She- I _hate _when she's nervous and I can't stop it."

"I'll call her when she gets home. 'Spontaneously'."

"Thanks Jane." He sighed. "Well, my spleen's been vented, time to go back before I need to make up an elaborate cover story about constipation."

"Claim you were snorting coke. It's a country club, you'll fit right in."

"Duly noted."

* * *

Daria had noticed the balding, handsome-via-surgery man come suspiciously near to their table at the club, the guy who looked a lot like Lawndale County's Senator Alex McManus and suspicions were raised when her grandmother turned at _just _the right moment and called "Alex!" at the person she clearly knew.

"Alex, didn't expect to see you in so early – come over, join us! Daria, Tom, this is Alex McManus-"

_Is it really? I wasn't sure, I only see him in the local media every two weeks and throughout half of November when he was caught in a goddamn bribe scandal that anyone paying attention would have seen._

"-Senator for your county, as I recall?"

"For my sins," he laughed. "Daria as in favoured granddaughter Daria? Your grandmother's been talking you up!"

Daria blushed slightly. "Um."

"Alex is also a senior figure in the Fielding Alumni and on this club's board."

"Forget the Maryland Senate, _that's _power," he smarmed.

_Oh god. I want to ask him which of those groups he met the Wizard CEO through. I really, really want to ask him. If I don't ask him, I will never be able to look myself in the mirror and go "hey, you're an anti-social bitch" ever again. Someone needs to say something that's completely unrelated to anything Fielding, senatorial, or vaguely wealth related._

"So when I have to go through the Knowledge and Bitchmas when I get into Fielding, I know who to blame?" asked Tom.

"Ha! Son, if I had to do the Knowledge when I joined, _everyone _has to do it. It's all about spreading the pain around."

"My dad said that too, but he used a different four-letter word than 'pain'. I'm going to think of it as a family hand-me-down."

"Bitchmas, well…"

Daria remembered Tom mentioning this: Fielding had historically been all-male. When it went co-ed twenty five years ago, there'd been a lot of students and ex-students who were outraged, as it would now be harder for other schools to make "Fielding are gay!" jokes (Tom had been "paraphrasing here"). Thus was born Bitchmas, a yearly tradition of harassing, terrorising, and generally monstering anything with breasts for a full 24 hours. Anything was fair game as long as it wasn't physical in a way that left evidence. An obscene ritual with no redeeming value that kept the Orwellian eternal jackboot stomping on equality's face.

_Do not say "it's just a bit of fun" or "boys will be boys"._

"...they go a bit over the top, but it's just some guys messing around."

"Did you meet Mark Straum at Fielding?"

McManus and Edie looked at her like she'd just farted. Daria looked back (not at Gran she couldn't look there) with her usual blank expression, meeting McManus's eyes. To her side, Tom only _just_stifled a laugh.

"I met him at a Republican party function," he said, his voice level. "I don't really know him well, but it's useful to know people like that when you want to bring jobs to your-"

"I'm sure Daria didn't mean anything like _that_!" broke in Edie, slightly embarrassed. "Did you, Daria?"

_Of course not. I was wondering if the two of them had gone up to join in Bitchmas. Who doesn't like messing around?_

"No, sorry, it came out wrong."

She still didn't dare look at her gran.

* * *

"That… could have gone better, Daria," was all Edie said after they left, the words 'for god's sake' unspoken (Tom was still there) but clear.

"So you know him then?"

"He's a friend, through other friends. I know a few people with ties to Fielding, or Grove Hill, Bromwell, _Crestmore…_" Edie looked at her. "You think I set up that encounter, and you're right. I wanted someone with pull to get to know you."

The light dawned. "Gran, I… I didn't realise that was what, it was sprung on me-"

"Alright, yes, I should have told you in advance, but I didn't want you to have nerves when Alex turned up. I'll bear this in mind next time."

'Next time' implied a few things. First and foremost, that she was damn well sure that _this _time had been crapped up. Daria felt mortified, and then unsure why she should care – it wasn't her damn fault – and then angry for being made to feel like that and then unsure if maybe it was her fault, and and –

"_Why?_" she blurted.

"Because… Because you're my granddaughter, and you're bright, and I want _someone_ from my family to escape the morass. I failed with your mother and aunts, I realise that, but I won't – I _can't_ – do the same with you." It was all coming out in a rush, desperate for understanding and afraid of rejection. "You need to do better, be _given _better, and I'm sorry but that's not Lawndale High. You need somewhere like Fielding. And your parents would never be able to provide that."

There was a brief urge to defend her parents, which dropped – the lurch of a dying bird. It was true, after all. Her parents could never get her into Fielding. They _wouldn't _even if they could. It'd go against 'principle'.

What _had _they provided, anyway? Nothing but embarrassment and anger and holding her back and getting her into Lawndale where she met Jane & Tom and supporting her when teachers had problems with her behaviour and aaaaarrrrgggggg-

"I… I'm not sure I'd want to go to Fielding."

Her grandmother just looked at her, smiling slightly.

Daria looked down. "Okay. No."

"And you definitely don't want to go to Grove Hills," broke in Tom, working to derail the conversation. "I hear it sucks compared to Fielding. People from Fielding told me that."

"Have they tested it?" asked Daria.

"That'd mean going to Grove Hills, and reaching the sixth circle of Hell is pretty hard."

"Why the sixth?"

"They play sports matches against Fielding and sometimes win. _Blasphemers._"

"_Daria_," interrupted Edie, drawing her back to the same mental quagmire as before. "I know you want to go, and I can help you. But I'll need you to _help me_help you."

"Um." She looked down, again. "Okay, I guess."

"You're a good girl, Daria." She smiled, and Daria felt slightly better despite herself. "Now, this may be too soon, but how about we do that shopping now? Let's get you some smarter clothes."

"Er, okay…"

* * *

"Now, _that's _a nice dress! What do you think, Daria?"

_This thing's whiter than the KKK's wet dream and my arms are freezing and I look like I'm auditioning to be a Gone With The Wind extra. (KKK's naughty dream then) There is no way in hell I want to wear this. On the other hand, if it's this or keep shopping…_

"I like it," she said.

Edie smiled. "Once Tom settles down and starts dressing properly, you two will make such a picture."

"How do you mean, 'settle down'?"

"That's a rude way of putting it, sorry, but you know what I mean: once he graduates, he'll have responsibilities and standards to uphold. He'll have to stop… well, _slumming it _with his dress and habits."

When Daria didn't respond, Edie winced and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I didn't mean _that_, dear. I…"

"I know."

* * *

Daria emerged from the shop weighed down with so many clothes that, to Tom's eyes, looked like a mass of clothes come to life that had attacked someone.

"Any good ones?" he asked her.

Daria's eyes said _fuck off and die_. Her voice said "sure".

"You know, it's getting a bit late – think we should start heading back to Lawndale?"

"Yeah, it's… um…" She turned to her gran. "We gotta… um…"

"Of course, of course." She gave her granddaughter a hug, or at least tried to get one through the mounds of clothes. "I'll get things sorted for you."

"Th-thanks," said Daria, not sure if she meant it.

* * *

The drive back was leaden, the car filled with atmosphere and unspoken issues. Tom's eyes flickered from the road to Daria; he opened his mouth, closed it.

Daria broke in first: "_Were _you just slumming-"

"_Christ's sake! _How many times do I have to-" He caught himself. "I've never thought I'm 'slumming it' to be with you, and I never thought that about Jane."

"Some… some might say that when you graduate and have-"

"I know that theory and I'm not _following it_, alright? No offence, Daria, but I'm sick of having to tell people this."

Silence.

Tom flicked on the radio; Z93 came through with an old 80s punk song. Daria flicked the radio off again.

"I'd rather stick with the silence, sorry."

"Fine."

After a while: "Okay, silence sucks. What's going on?"

"That's not the question," she whispered. "The real question is where's this _going_– not just us, everything."

"Alright. Where's this going?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

The Bentley sped on into the coming twilight.

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: "Bitchmas" is a concept from The Hallowed Halls of Fielding by Roentgen. In my head, Nervous Rex is a toy of Rex from Toy Story.


	19. Shock of the New Kid

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 19: Shock of the New Kid**

Daria knew the day was going to suck when she came down and found the kitchen table covered in beer and Erin.

"Uh, Erin? We need this to eat."

There was a combination of a burp and a snore.

"You make a persuasive argument."

She looked at her cousin for a few seconds, sighed, and gave in to her conscience and tried to move her into a more comfortable sitting position. At which point Erin vomited on her.

At which point Quinn came down, pointed, and went "HA!".

At which point Daria, finding all her normal clothes were still in the wash, had to don one of the smart dresses that her Gran had bought her.

At which point Helen and Jake lurched out of their room and saw her, with her father yelling "Oh god _it's the waking nightmare again!_" Helen just stared.

"Erin puked all over me and I had to change."

"_OH THANK GOD_-" Her mother blanched. "Um, I mean-"

"It's nice to know I can wear whatever I want," said Daria through gritted teeth.

"WE'RE OUT OF POP TARTS!" yelled Quinn from downstairs.

_Full house,_thought Daria.

* * *

"I'm still amazed you wear more than one set of clothes," said Jane. "I was so sure you only had the one pair and just washed it overnight."

"I think Tom will like it. So that's _one_person on Earth then."

"You've got a face like a bulldog licking pee off a nettle. What's up?"

"Well, aside from a lovely mental image right now…" She sighed. "Stuff with family. Again. Can we change the subject?"

"The dress it is!"

"Well played, Jane."

* * *

"So, with that ending in mind," said O'Neill, "in what ways could Orwell have made Animal Farm have a happier ending? Anyone?"

Kevin raised his hand.

"_Jodie!_"

The girl looked up at him. She'd spent most of the class in a fugue state, uncommon for her, and her eyes still lacked their usual spark.

"Does it _matter?_" she asked.

"The animals could have played football, that would've been _awesome!_" cried out Kevin. "Boxer would have kicked French _ass! _Didn't know Napoleon was still alive in the 1940s though, Mr D never mentioned that."

"Does… does anyone _else_have an idea?"

"Of course they don't," said Jodie, before going back to her slump.

Daria tried not to look at her. Ever since her father's cheating had come out – and the current gossip was that her mother was out too, as in 'of the house' and in a hotel – Jodie had been getting worse. Her entire ideology and worldview had gone boom, and she didn't know how to deal. Daria had an idea of how that felt…

"_Daria!_ What do _you _think?"

"I'd like to hear more from Kevin," she said, trying to make O'Neill go away.

"Al_riiiight! _Well, the animals would've recruited other animals if they'd had a keg party…"

The last fifteen minutes of class were the dumbest fifteen minutes of any English class Daria had been in, and also the most amusing (the look on O'Neill's face was worth a thousand words). She made sure to ask Kevin extra questions.

* * *

As the bell rang and everyone fled for a marginally more interesting class, Daria found herself cornered by O'Neill:

"Daria, how would you feel about taking part in the Yearbook?"

"Do I really need to answer th-"

"How about _running _the Yearbook?"

She looked at his total desperation. "I thought Jodie was running it."

"Jodie has… um… had to withdraw due to… _personal _matters."

_Jodie_ dropped _an extracurricular? That's… oh. Her parents drove her to do a lot of them. Her parent still at home is her father. There we go._

"I think you should ask Tom," she said, wanting to see how O'Neill would react.

How he reacted was to burst out the door, where Tom and Jane were waiting ("AAARG!" they cried in surprise), and yell "_Tom! _How'd you like to run the school's Yearbook?"

"I wouldn't?"

"…Jane?" He sighed. "No, I guess not. Oh wait! Photography! We need photographers for it, and it's both fun and looks good on your college transcripts!"

Jane yawned.

"Doesn't DeMartino oversee the Yearbook?" asked Tom.

"Of course, and a _great _job he does too, but Ms Li was… concerned that… uh… he might have certain views on the Yearbook that… would impact on recruiting…"

* * *

As the bell rang and everyone fled for a less angry class, Quinn found herself cornered by DeMartino:

"Ah, young QUINN! How would YOU like to volunteer on the YEARbook's PHOTOGRAPHY section? OBViousLY, you'd need to BEHAVE and take APPROpriate photos…"

He grinned, horribly.

"What? Fuck off with that, Fascist, I'd take whatever photos I want!"

"Hmm. I'll REPHRASE…"

* * *

After school, Quinn entered the Yearbook room, Andrea and Spike in tow – she wasn't going to hog _all _the fun – and watched with glee as almost everyone recoiled in horror, like vampires from a Buffy cosplay contest.

Only two people didn't recoil:

The first was Bob, the _traitor_ punk who actually _behaved_ at school. He was eyeing her suspiciously, so she flipped him off back (he reciprocated with two fingers, so he won _that_round).

The second was the nerdiest nerd who ever nerded, an archnerd who was so nerdy that Daria looked like a non-erd, who went up to the trio with a smile and an open hand:

"Hi! I'm Ted, the photo editor. Welcome to the Yearbook team!"

Quinn spat in her own hand and then shook his.

"Oh, is _that _the custom here? The more you know." Ted studied them. "Your look, it reminds me a bit of Goya's Black Paintings. Are you fans of Goya?"

Andrea and Spike, with slightly confused expressions, looked to Quinn for guidance.

"Are you cruisin' for a _bruisin'_, bitch?" she snarled.

He looked confused. "I don't think so."

"…_good!_" she replied, weakly.

* * *

Jane, partway through a painting (_Saturn Eating His Son _reimagined with DeMartino and Kevin), asked Daria: "So you noticed the new kid exists yet?"

"Jane, this is a question about socialising and caring about people. Not only have I not noticed that, I wouldn't notice if he contracted Ebola."

"It's always Ebola with you, where's the variety? He's the one who wears a _shirt with buttons_. Apparently his parents home schooled him."

"Is there a point to this exposition?"

"Wondered if we should approach a fellow outcast kid and befriend."

"As we are known to do."

"Al_right_, I just want to know more about him so I can snark at him and his worth as a human being. We do Kevin too much, it's time for some variety!"

"You can never question Kevin's worth as a human being too much."

* * *

"Here's some photo samples," snorted Spike, chucking down photos of the Eleven's private parts.

"Whoa! Interesting effects with light and dark," said Ted, flipping through them. "And an extended group homage to Michelangelo's David, am I right?"

Spike looked at Quinn in despair. Quinn held up a hand for him – the 'I got this' gesture – and decided to go for the jugular: "So why the fuck are we shoving in all these photos of sports and clubs that don't mean shit and just prop up the Man?"

To her horror, Ted was _thinking that over._

"You know, I have thought it was a shame that volunteering and charity fundraising got less space in the Yearbook…" He brightened up and grabbed her hand. "Come on!"

He dragged her over to DeMartino's desk, and cheerfully said: "Mr. DeMartino? Quinn and I were just saying that there are some students at school who are really making a difference, and maybe we're short-changing them a little bit in the yearbook. Maybe if some space was cut from, say, sports and clubs-"

The teacher grinned a terrible grin. "Let me PAUSE and REFLECT – **RIGHT, sports and clubs are CUT by TEN PAGES!**" He held up a triumphant fist in the face of complaining students: "Ha HAAAA, I got DENIAbility here, you were BETRAYED by two of YOUR OWN!"

Most of the room looked with hatred at Quinn and Ted. The punk turned to him, astounded.

"_Wow._ You've… oh, _awesome!_ You really _stuck it _to the Man!"

"I did?" He scratched his head. "Mr DeMartino seemed in favour of it, actually…"

"No, _the _Man. Jesus shat…" She grabbed him with a determined glint in her eyes. "You have just managed to piss off all the snot-nosed popular people-"

"Oh." Ted looked sad. "I didn't mean to upset any-"

"-and if you're doing _that_, you're goddamn gonna be a fucking punk already. Ted, _we're going to educate you NOW._"

"I'm flattered you want to tutor me, but shouldn't we wait until after the Yearbook session's done?"

"See, _that_ is the _first _thing we need to teach you…"

Quinn and her entourage went out of the room, dragging Ted with them. A few seconds later, all the angry students in the room focused their glares on Bob, the only punk left.

"I'm not with her, I swear."

* * *

Daria arrived home to find the Maleficent Eleven were taking up the whole lounge, and a guy with a shirt and glasses was trapped between them. For a brief moment, she thought Quinn had followed through with her threat to start abducting bank workers for ransom money.

"Hey!" snarled Quinn. "We're _educating_ Ted here, this is a sealion environment! No _squares _in for fear of contanningshen!"

"You am gud at English."

Erin emerged in a fug of beer fumes from her room and staggered to the TV. Quinn was about to give the same speech when Erin snarled "that's my damn seat", pushed Shaggy off the sofa, and then vomited.

"Okay, Erin can stay."

"I'm unsure what tutorial requires eleven teachers," said Ted.

"_Dave! THE PISTOLS!_"

Dave grunted and shoved iPod headphones into Ted's confused ears. Within seconds, the first song was playing and the nerd's eyes looked ready to _explode_.

_"OH MY GOSH WHAT THE HECK IS THIS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"_

"We need to stabilise! _BURNOUT, JOINT!_"

In the corner, Erin was trying to watch a soap opera. _That_was Daria's cue to flee upstairs and call Jane to explain just what the heck was happening.

Downstairs came a cry of: "Okay, now he's _too_ stable… _SLUTTY GIRL, BE SLUTTY! _If that doesn't work, we nut him."

* * *

By the time it should have been dinner, none of the Eleven had left and neither had Ted, his hair now full of dye and his eyes unfocused. Helen and Jake were now joining in the impromptu mosh pit to the sounds of Oasis' Be Here Now.

"You see," said Helen as she bodyslammed Andrea, "by making such a pointless, inane, meaningless, and bloated album when all their fans and the media were talking about how great and meaningful they were, Oasis was raising two digits to said fans and media and that's _totally fucking punk!_"

"Whoooaaaaaaaaaaa," said several of the Eleven, their minds blown.

"This word 'punk' seems to have many different connotations and meanings," said Ted. "Are any of them written down?"

"Well, _that _wouldn't be punk at all, dipshit!" spat Spike.

"I… guess not…"

Daria just stood there, watching the chaos and the mess. Not long ago, she'd be amused as well as embarrassed; now it was just embarrassment. And hunger.

"I'm going out to get pizza," she said, unsure if anyone had heard her.

On the way out, she found Stacy on the doorstep. In her usual Fashion Club clothes.

"You may have forgotten something," said Daria.

Stacy looked down and spat in horror. "What the fuck? Where'd all this crap come from, I look like some wussy bourgeoisie pigdog! Ahhh, I can't be fucked to go home and change _now!_" Then she narrowed her eyes at Daria. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

"You."

"….erm…"

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to eat something and have some decent company, by which I mean I'll be by myself."

To her shock, Stacy pulled out some (fake) glasses, changed her entire body language and tone of voice, and said: "Room for two? I could do with an extra pair of frontal lobes with my Science homework."

"Oh…kay…"

They went four steps before Stacy started to freak out because she was in the presence of an unpopular girl and oh god Sandi or Elsie might see her and she ran off crying.

_This is what exposure to Quinn does to people. Someone should save Ted before it's too late. Someone else._

Daria walked off.

* * *

By lunchtime the next day, the school was filled with hostility so thick it was as smart as Kevin.

"Okay, everyone involved in sports or clubs of any kind has a face like a bulldog that just heard one of Jane's metaphors," said Daria. "What's up?"

"Maybe a teacher asked them to think?" suggested Jane.

"It's the Yearbook," said Tom. "I heard the new kid got some of the club and sports pages cut."

Daria waited expectantly.

"…wait, that's it?"

"They are simple folk with simple needs, Daria."

"So, Daria," said Jane, in a strangled voice. "You said Ted had been hanging around your sister…"

"If I say 'yes', will I regret what you're about to point out?"

"You betcha."

Daria turned round and saw… Ted with dyed hair, safety pins in his shirt, and a dazed expression. Quinn was leading him towards the Eleven's usual (unwashed) table.

"Eh, not so bad. Could be worse."

"Look! It's the _traitors!_" growled Kevin. "Walking around all… _traitory!_"

"The team still has more pages than anyone else," said Mack, "I think we can stand one less-"

"Awww _man!_ This sucks so bad Mack's given up all hope!" Kevin turned to his fellow football players. "We have to stop this _now! _Let's go… do something!"

"YEAAAHHHHH!"

* * *

"I'm not sure I'm… punk material," was all Ted could protest before the Lawndale Lions cut off him & Quinn from the rest of the Eleven.

"Alright…" Kevin struggled to remember Ted's name. "…new kid! We want our pages back and we're not leaving until we get results!"

"Oh yeah?" snarled Quinn. "Or you'll do _what?_"

"Ummm…" He turned to another player. "Dude, you got any ideas?"

"Yeah, I got one," said the bearded, hulking, menacing hulk menace, looming over Ted and Quinn.

"Now, fellow, I'm sure we all agree violence is not the answ-"

The player threw a punch and, on instinct, Ted dodged it, grabbed a chair, and swung it right into the man's _face_, knocking him down in a spray of blood.

The whole cafeteria went silent.

"_Cool,_" said Kevin, before "Uh, I mean – _not _cool!"

"I think he's _dead! THAT KID KILLED HIM!_"

**"RUN AWAY!"**

The team duly ran away, leaving behind the moaning and clearly not dead form of their fellow. Quinn slapped Ted on the back.

"Bitching!"

The Maleficent Eleven rose up from their table, chanting - "TED! TED! TED!" – and Andrea and Dave carried the new kid up on their shoulders.

"Yeah," said Quinn, "he's totally learnt well from-"

"TED! TED! TED!"

"-hey, fuckers, I'm still talk-"

"TED! TED! TED!"

"I am a punk…" breathed Ted. Then, more enthusiastically: **"I AM A PUNK!"**

"Yeah, he did well but did you see me insult Kevin, huh guys? Guys…?"

No one had noticed her. They were too busy placing Ted in pride of place at the table.

"Shit," said Quinn.

By the end of lunch, Ted was leading the gang through the halls, claiming "Hey, if I understand this right, it'd be _really_ punk if we wrecked the _staff_ toilets _in addition to the ones we use!_"

"TED! TED! TED!"

"I once stole all the paper from the staff toilets!" cried out a desperate Quinn from the rear of the pack.

* * *

The Fashion Club sprang themselves on Daria like Jehovah's Witnesses early on a Saturday morning.

"Like, Tom's bit on the side or _whatever_-"

"He's totally just using her for sex and they'll stop dating soon!" broke in Elsie.

"...yes, yes, we _all_ believe you, _El_-see... Anyways, whatever. _You _are going to talk to Quinn and get her to, like, leave the Yearbook pages to..." Sandi struggled for the words.

"The Inner Party," said Daria.

"Right!"

"While I'm all for the mindless regurgitation of 'school spirit' and maintaining the fiction that Lawndale High is a competent, well-rounded facility, the chances that Quinn will listen to me are slightly less than the chances that Tiffany understood a single word I just said."

"Buuuut I dooooooo think beeefooorrreeee Iiiii vomiiiiit up breeaakkfaaassst."

"I rest my case."

"We _need_ those extra pages or we'll have to _drop some of our photos_," said Elsie dangerously. "If that happens-"

"If that happens there'll be, like, _steps _taken. In the Fairy Godmother sense with the horse head or whatever it was."

"_Quinn and Ted _are the ones doing it. I'm not involved. Why aren't you putting pressure on them, or are you too scared and why am I still talking when I just answered my own question?"

Nobody spoke, so Daria took that as leave to leave. She only just managed to avoid shaking with anger.

_I get drawn into your messes again – AGAIN! Why do you have to keep doing this, why do you_ all _keep doing this, I just – want – it – to – STOP._

* * *

The teachers looked at the remains of their toilets.

"One way of looking at this," said Claire Defoe, "and I know this may not be the most popular one, is that the combination of the toilet paper wads and the graffiti and the way these two disparate styles combine, not to mention the unflushed, clogged toilet, is reminiscent of the early Tracy Enim."

"Shut up, hippie," said Ms Morris.

Angela Li's lip grew thinner and thinner, and her eyes narrowed to a point.

"This day has come like I knew it would." She tapped the hidden mike on her blouse's neck. "Operation Sumter is on. _TOTAL LOCKDOWN NOW!_"

* * *

All exits were locked and barricade, all phone & net connections were firewalled and wi-fi blocked, and with a great whirring dirge, metal covers slowly drew themselves down selected windows. Security guards in gas masks sealed off each flight of stairs, three to a flight and backed up by the security puppies. Each guard had a hastily printed "Black List" of targets they should assume was hostile, running to sixty-three individuals and including three of the guards (and one of the puppies).

One security guard was tasked to shadow Mohammed at all times. Mohammed's first post-lunch lesson was Maths; the class had five minutes into Mr Ewing's dirge-like discussion about working out the areas of triangles, and another forty-five of the guard's loud snoring. (After thirty minutes, the window cover broke down before it had reached the halfway point)

"What I don't get," said Daria, "is how this is going to work when she has to let us leave at the end of the day."

"She mustn't want the guilty parties fleeing before then," said Tom.

"But she _can't _find them," said Jane. "The only way that would work is if she had cameras in... the... toilets..."

The three malcontents looked at each other, horror and nausea fighting for dominance in their eyes.

* * *

'Foggy' Murdoch, lawyer for Lawndale High for five years and sedatives abuser for four years, eleventh months, three weeks and five days, was escorted into Lawndale High and forced to wear a helmet in case of "sniper fire". Once into Li's office – past three sets of locks and two passwords – he found the principal cackling with glee, the security monitors behind her showing footage of toilets.

"At last! _At last!_ Murdoch, I'm going to need consulting over these letters of expulsion – I finally, _finally_ have the ammunition to expel that gang of hoodlums _once and for all!_"

_Not the Glee Club again_, he thought.

* * *

As the bell ran, the bored voice of head security guard Steve came over the intercom: "Alright, one class at a time is going to disperse. First class... Senior Business class on third floor Room 5, move to Gym class in, er, the gym. Take off all shoes at the checkpoints and we'll be doing random searches..."

Daria frowned. "Hmmm. Assuming it would take five minutes normally... triple the time due to the checkpoints, add in a few minutes for the previous Gym class to be allowed to disperse... If I've got the maths right, our next lesson will start over three hours after school ends."

"Oh _no_!" screamed Brittany, overhearing this. "We're _never _going to leave school!"

"No, we'll go home but we won't have any more lessons after this."

"Oh. _Yay!_"

"But we have to stay in Maths class until then."

"Oh _no!_!"

Screamed Mr Ewing.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Art class, Ted was happily painting away. Defoe peered over his shoulder, confused.

"That's an _excellent _bit of work, Ted, but the bowl of fruit you were meant to be drawing doesn't have spiky hair and piercings, and it's not on fire."

"Well, I did start out intending to draw a still life, but I'm supposed to be trying to be punk, so I thought I'd alter it a bit!"

Angel looked over at him, mouth agape. "Whooooaaaaaaa. _That apple has a nose ring._"

* * *

"There! _There!_" Ms Li jabbed one of the monitor screens. "There they are, caught in the act! And with our DNA lab, we can doubly prove that it was indeed Andrea Hecuba who used that toilet! _They're numbered!_"

Murdoch's face was buried in his hands. "Angela, _you put cameras in school toilets._"

"Of course! Graffiti, drug deals, masturbation, loitering!"

"It.. you... I... _we can't use THAT in a court of law!_ Jesus Christ, Angela, if you tell people you put cameras in a place where _minors are using their private parts_, you'll be arrested! You can't even use the staff toilet footage because then people will ask about the student toilets too! My God, you have to let these kids off or it's all over!"

She had the stare of a small child that just saw Santa Claus set fire to their presents. "But... but I caught them. It was..."

"It's mutually assured destruction. Believe me."

For a long time, she was silent. Finally, quietly, she asked, "does this mean I should get rid of the cameras in the showers too?"

* * *

When the final bell rang, the whole school _ran_to get out – Kevin went through a window in his haste. Ted looked a bit mournful, mentioning that this included everyone on the Yearbook committee.

"I guess we're not working on it today. Oh well."

The Maleficent Eleven turned to him, worshippers of a god.

"You beat up someone, wrecked every toilet, put the school on the biggest lockdown _ever_, shut down the Yearbook entirely _and_ made _fruit_ punk _in the same day!_" roared Dave. "You're the ultimate punk! YOU FUCKING RULE!"

**"TED! TED! TED! TED!"**

"Awww, you guys!"

"Yes, yes, yes," snapped Quinn, "it's all cool and shit. But now we're out of school, let's go do something-"

"What do you think we should do, Ted?" asked Andrea.

"Give us guidance, Ted!" wailed Koichi.

"Erm..." The youth thought it over.

"Let's go to the Halcyon Hills and freak out some rich fatcats!" roared Quinn, punching the air. "Eh? EH?"

"That sounds punk," said Ted. "Let's go terrorise Halcyon Hills!"

"Man, you have _awesome_ideas, Ted!" cheered Shaggy.

"Ted RULES!"

"Who's Ted again?" asked Burnout.

* * *

Daria and Jane set off home as they usually did, only to find Quinn tagging along, murder in her eyes. The two friends looked at each other, shrugged, and continued to walk on. Quinn followed, fuming, before finally snapping out:

"Damn it he's stealing my gang and rep! Bastard! They're _mine!_"

"Not stealing anything of worth then," Jane muttered to Daria.

"Okay, so what he did was cool and everything, but why couldn't he, like, settle for… for being a punk _but not as good a one as me? _I worked to get where I am! You need to do what you're good at, right?" She paused. "Well?"

"Oh, are we supposed to be paying attention?" asked Daria.

"It's like… you're a square brain and totally uggo too, no offence, and you're good at that, right? That's what _you_ do. And I'm good at what _I_ do, so if someone's better than me…" Quinn looked at Daria with a brief glimpse of fear and confusion, someone who lacked the words. "Like, what if there was a brain and they were a bigger brain than you and everyone was ignoring your braininess over them? That'd _suck_, right?"

"Quinn, if someone was smarter than me, that wouldn't make me _stupid_, would it."

"Of _course_ it would! Well, you know what I mean! I – I – aww, why am I bitching to you, I need to beat Ted at something, _where did Eric Schrecter park his car this time…_"

The punk stormed off, visions of burning shit in her mind.

"Daria, I understood what Quinn was trying to say," said Jane. "Please _kill me._"

* * *

The Morgendorffer's front door wilted under an angry banging, and when Jake opened it he saw two incredibly angry people staring at him.

"Quinn was at home all night so it can't have been her!" he recited

"Oh, we _know _it was her," growled the man.

Helen sidestepped into view, her face and tone set in full-on lawyer mode, her everything else looking as close to legality as Australia was to the North Pole. "You'll need corroboration from third-party witnesses and non-security footage will be challenged in court-"

"We're Ted Dewitt-Clinton's parents – Grant Clinton, Leslie Dewitt." Grant looked at the punk's leather clothing and scowled. "_Factory farmed _cattle too, no doubt."

Helen stepped in, hoping to head off Jake before he remarked cows weren't made in factories: "Can we settle this over a drink?"

"_Alcohol_, no doubt," said Leslie. "Now I see where she gets it from-"

"What was _that, _slag? You wanna twatting? Huh?"

Grant stood between the women. "_You _may happy gorging on the crass refuse of an immoral and decadent 'society'-"

"I was actually going to cook stir fry," said Jake.

"-but don't you _infect_ our son with it! Staying out late, violence, _hair dye..._" Grant looked like he'd be sick. "CHEWING GUM, DAMN YOU, _WE FOUND GUM IN HIS ROOM!_"

The Morgendorffers stared. The brief, embarrassed silence was broken by Leslie crying.

"We've tried _so hard_ to stop our son being ruined by the so-called mainstream, and nobody seems to _care!_"

"You too?" cried Helen.

* * *

Quinn looked at the burning Mercedes and sighed, walking away.

"Even burning shit doesn't help."

* * *

When Daria came back from Jane's, two strangers were in her house, drinking water and engaged in a loud, mutually angry conversation with her parents.

"That gibbering loon Reagan, it goes back to him!" yelled the man. "How could _anyone_ go along with a society he created, with the greed and the amorality and the-the _filofaxes!_"

"My stepfather had a filofax, the cunt!" snarled Helen (not drinking water). "And braces – _braces!_ And a _novelty tie_!"

The adults all shuddered.

"And don't get us started on Bush!"

"FUCKING ASSHOLE _I BET MY DAD VOTED FOR HIM __**THREE TIMES**_" Unable to express his anger still with words, Jake headbutted the table. "OW!"

"And people think _we're_ weird and yell names at us, well, they're the weird ones for bringing up their kids with values like _that_-"

"Yeah! And just look at our girls – outside the mainstream and they're _happy!_"

All four adults noticed Daria was in the room.

"They're happy _inside!_" said Helen, not missing a beat.

"Will this conversation make sense even if you tell me the context?"

To the girl's mortification, her parents came over and hugged her in full view of two perfect strangers.

"She's sarcastic and rude and questioning to everyone!" said Helen proudly. "Once she starts hitting people too, nothing will stop her!"

"Not even _headbutts_, Hellion!"

Daria began to blush, a mix of embarrassment and gratitude and shame. Slowly, she edged herself out of her parent's grasp.

"Um... speaking of your offspring, Quinn's been feeling a bit down-"

"Let's _take to the streets!_" yelled Jake, leaping into action. "I call dibs on driving!"

"Head for Schrecter's house first, Snake, we can pick up the trail from there!"

The punks flew out of the house and within seconds their car was snarling down the road. Daria waited a few seconds – she wasn't entirely sure, in her own mind, if she'd told them that because of concern for her sister or just to get her family out of the house for a few hours (_be honest, Daria, it's both_) – and then, confused, turned to the two strangers.

"Why _are _you here?"

"I don't remember," said the woman.

* * *

When the Morgendorffers found Quinn, she was slouched against the statue of That Bearded Guy (Who Is It Again?) in the park, bruises on her head and knuckles and a look of despair on her face.

"I tried to headbutt it down," she muttered when they reached it. "It wouldn't go down. _I have failed._"

"The important thing is you tried," said Helen gently.

"I bet _Ted_ could do it. He does everything else! Wait, no, he couldn't because someone else would have to do it _so he could steal it from them!_Cos he's a thief! YEAH!"

The adults looked at each other. Through an unspoken telepathy, Jake decided it'd be best if he stepped backwards and didn't say anything.

"Quinn, honey, just because someone else might seem better-"

"Yeah, yeah, Daria already gave the fucking speech and it sucked! The whole _point _is to the best, isn't it?"

"Well, yes," said Helen, who had embodied that psychological flaw for years. "But – and this is the important bit – that shouldn't count for so much with your gang. They're not competition, they're on your side. And Ted's a mate, isn't he?"

"I _guess._"

"Well he's not trying to compete with you, he's just trying to raise hell on his own. And didn't you utterly corrupt him from being a hippie?"

"FUCK YEAH!"

"You do that and think _anyone _believes you're a sub-par hellion?" Helen smirked.

Quinn thought this over, and smiled. "Thanks Mum."

"Come on, sweetie, let's head home."

As the punks walked off, Quinn thought: _Ha, Mum totally fell for it! Speech fucked off, yeah! Now, how CAN I get command back from Ted…_

* * *

It was a dark and stormy schoolday, thunder and lightning all over, as if a story was trying to create atmosphere for something sinister. Daria and Jane had given up on the walk to school in the face of the rain and had hitched a ride with Tom, Daria in the front seat and Jane in the back making kissy noises whenever Tom and Daria looked at each other.

"Friendship is a four letter word," said Daria darkly.

"So what's Quinn got planned for today, and what rooms should I avoid at what times?" asked Tom.

"She won't say. All I got out of her was a mad laugh and being told to beware at lunchtime."

"I'm _always _bewaring lunchtime. Where does that food come from?"

The car drove up to the security checkpoint outside the car park: a steel barrier and a booth with an X-ray machine in it. The barrier lifted without them having to do anything, the guard not wanting to get out of his nice dry booth. On the Bentley trundled, reaching the car park just in time to see the fuck-off great explosion in the staff area.

Ted – shirtless and with home-made tattoos and carrying a Molotov cocktail – fled past them, pursued by soggy guards, screaming "THAT WAS EVEN BETTER THAN GUM!".

The three kids stared.

"I think that was Ms Li's car he just blew up," said Tom.

"When I grow up, I wanna be just like Ted," said Jane, awe in her voice.

* * *

The Lawndale County PD, the Maryland State Police, and even the National Guard had descended on Lawndale High and the town itself, responding to Ms Li's report of a major terrorist threat in the county. They'd soon work out she'd exaggerated, but until then armoured vehicles patrolled every major road. Nobody was allowed into school until it had been checked for explosives, but since school wasn't cancelled that meant everyone was piling up in the grounds and spilling onto the road.

The resulting traffic jam from all this was _so vast_ that the entire town was in gridlock. Seven Corners was a tail_forward_. Baltimore's financial companies were lacking several key workers and this was causing a knock-on effect throughout the whole country and _world_, which would be sorted when a desperate bank manager grabbed a homeless man from the street and got him to do the stock market work.

In short, it was such a clusterfuck that the Maleficent Eleven had built a shrine to Ted out of their schoolbooks and erected it on the grounds (where it was getting soggy).

"I heard Li was _in _the car at the time!" said Koichi.

"I heard he was cornered in Dega Street and headbutted a police car to escape!" said Scarlett.

"I heard a pig shot him and he's now a walking corpse driven by _pure punk!_" said Spike.

Quinn arrived late, carrying cages full of ravenous squirrels, and screamed at the sight. "_DAMN IT TED WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THESE SQUIRRELS NOW THEN?_"

She threw the cages to the ground, where the squirrels got loose and ran amok, attacking everything that looked edible.

"TED'S STILL IN LAWNDALE!" yelled Andrea as the sight of the squirrels. "HE'S EVERYWHERE!"

* * *

"…House Republicans have condemned Obama, claiming this is another sign of weakening security in America. Homeland Security Committee chairman Peter King blamed the presence of a mosque in Lawndale but his speech was drowned out by several Democrats fake-coughing 'Noraid'…"

Tom changed the channel.

"…Sub-BOMB-urban Action, live on SICK SAD WORLD!"

Jake wandered into the lounge and blinked at the sight of the kids. "School's still on, isn't it?"

"Eh, we wandered off to see who'd notice we'd gone."

"All RIGHT! Daria, I'm proud of you!"

Daria buried her head in her hands.

* * *

Upstairs, Quinn was hurriedly working on her notes: if Ted blew up one car, she was going to have to _blow up two cars _to stay ahead. She made a note to scream "ALLAH DID JESUS' MUM!" in front of cameras and policemen. This would be it, this would…

Quinn's phone rang.

"Make it quick, I need to look up state senator addresses!"

"Hey Quinn!" came the sound of Ted's cheery voice. "I got your number off Jackie-"

"Who?"

"Slutty Girl."

_She has a real name?_ "Well, _Ted_, now we're here let me say-"

"Oh, me first! I just want everyone to know that I'm currently in Fremont but I'm doing fine, I've got a ride with some really nice guys with motorbikes who wanted to shake my hand. It _might_ be a while before I can come back to Lawndale, but these guys say Mexico's quite nice!" There was a cough. "And… um… well, Quinn, I… well… These past few days have been _awesome! _I'd have never thought to petrol-bomb Li's car if not for you! I've been telling everyone I meet and any with a camera phone: I'm just the disciple, Killer Quinn Morgendorffer is the one from Nazarene here!"

Quinn didn't understand the allusion, but figured it was something good. "Oh." Then: "You've… you've been telling people _I _inspired that? Where any of them journalists? Please tell me one was a journalist!"

"I think so…"

_My rep is saved!_

"Hang on, gotta go, the sheriff's found us – but, umm, I just want to say… thank you for everything you did for me," said the hunted fugitive with no money. "You're a great friend."

"Yeah, I know," said Quinn, a mix of embarrassment and pride running through her. "Fight the man, Ted."

"…I think we were planning to run away, but fighting the sheriff sounds much punker! See you, Quinn!"

* * *

"…crap like this has been on the rise for _months!_" an angry local told the journalist. "I dunno why, but ever since October last year…"

"Your family has influence," said Jane, nudging Daria. "Soon, all of Maryland will be like Ted."

"Tom, if you punk up, you'll die a virgin."

"Duly noted."

The teens reclined for a bit when Daria's phone rang. She took it out and checked the caller.

Grandma Barksdale.

"Um. Hi."

"I just saw the news! My god, are you alright? You didn't get caught by the bioweapon-"

"No, that was just one of the football players telling the Fox crew he had a bomb in his pants and then farting. Which, I grant you, is a lot like a bioweapon."

"Please don't joke about this, Daria, I was _terrified_– we need to get you out of that place. I'm speeding up my timetable, I'm securing you a place at Fielding before the end of this month. You best tell your parents – or do want me to?"

"I… I'll handle that," she whispered.

"I'll get back to you on this – but take heart, dear. It's almost over."

Jane and Tom looked at their friend, frozen and hunched over.

"Daria? Is everything alright?"

THE END

NEXT TIME: How The Hell Did I Get Here So Soon, And I Don't Wanna Grow Up...

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The theory about Be Here Now was mentioned to me by fellow ficcer Brian Taylor. The statue of an unknown bearded man, Halcyon Hills Corporate Park, and the Seven Points intersection all come from the book The Daria Diaries.


	20. Bearing Gifts

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 20: Bearing Gifts**

"Mum, Dad: Grandma Barksdale has decided she'll get me into Fielding Prep so I can improve my education and be kept far, far away from Lawndale High.

"Mum, Dad: Grandma Barksdale intends to send me to Fielding so you'll have less influence on my life and I can be more upper class.

"Mum, Dad: _I want out._

"I don't think I'm getting anywhere here, do you?"

The inanimate plastic dinosaur gave no sign of life.

"You're useless, Nervous Rex." Daria poked the toy at the right angle so it would fall over. "So I can't think of any way to broach the subject. No problem. It's only been three days since I told Grand I'd do it. Soon, I won't need to say anything because Mum and Dad will find out anyway, and I'll have avoided one difficult conversation for a more difficult one.

"Man, with a brain like that, how can I _not _go to Fielding?"

With a sigh, she went back to her computer and fired up Cannibal Fragfest III. If she cranked the volume up loud enough, she wouldn't have to hear as much of the windows-shaking punk music from below.

_I miss Aunt Amy._

* * *

Tom lay on Jane's bed, staring at the ceiling and the damp patch on it; anywhere that wasn't Jane.

"So I can't help my girlfriend, is what you're saying."

"I didn't say that," said Jane, increasingly irritated. "Jesus, Tom, this isn't _about _you-"

"I _know _that!"

"Look, Daria needs to talk about her issues and she's not talking, correct? And she needs to talk to one of us, we're it for her – and again, there is no us here, just me, because _you_will be going to Fielding and talking to you will weight the conversation."

"And then there's the class thing again, isn't it," he said quietly.

Pause. "Yeah."

"I just want to make things _right _for her."

"I know, amigo. The best way is for you to just be waiting for her and let me do this."

"I know." He closed his eyes, unable to look at the ceiling anymore. "Sometimes I wish… ah, it doesn't matter. So when do you kick things off?"

"Monday tomorrow. Back to school, where I will have a slight problem with homework that I'll need her help with. Once she's here… I dunno, I get Trent to barricade my room and not let us out until Daria's opened up."

"What if he's asleep by then?"

"I eat her to stay alive, duh. I thought this through."

* * *

Monday evening, Jane and Daria arrived to find Jane's bedroom door was blocked with junk.

"Oh for- TRENT! You were supposed to do this _after _I came back!"

From his room came a sleepy "Oh, sorry".

"Jane, why was your brother going to imprison me in your room? I'm flattered and all, but I think it would ruin our friendship."

"Well, I… I thought we could have a nice little chat." Jane looked down. "Where you couldn't run away."

"I see. And what, _precisely_, did you think was any of your business?"

"We're just worried-"

"If I want your help or advice, I'll _ask for it!_"

"Bullpies you will!"

Daria spun away, but not so quickly that Jane couldn't see the look of pure rage on her friend's face.

"You don't have the right to do things for me without sanction and then tell me it was for my benefit." Her voice was far too quiet. "I'm not _three._"

"Daria, I swear, that's not what – Alright, _alright_, that was exactly what I was doing, but I was scared and I wanted to-"

"Motive is irrelevant. What's being done is being done."

Jane willed her friend to turn round, to at least _face her _when she cut loose. And then she willed her to speak again without prompting, but she wouldn't. And she wished she knew what to say that wouldn't upset her friend more, that would do something about the gnawing sense of failure, of ruining it.

In the end, she went with her first thought:

"You're not just talking about me, are you?"

Silence. Daria's posture hunched, reducing the size of the target.

"Oh. I… I can't actually think of anything to say right now."

_"I'm sorry."_

The broken whisper was heartbreaking, and she stepped forward to place a hand on her friend's shoulder; it was shrugged off but half-heartedly, and when she put it back there was no reaction.

"Why can't people just leave me alone, Jane?"

"Do you want me to-"

"No! No." Pause. "Can… can you just walk me home?"

"Sure, amiga. Sure."

* * *

"…okay, how about this one: DeMartino, Barch, and O'Neill are at a theme park, and one of the rides is a magic slide, and whatever drink you yell the name of on the way down, you land in a big pool of it-"

"And at the end, O'Neill goes down crying 'wheeeeeee!' by mistake."

"Tom told you that?"

Daria smirked. "Please, the punchline is so obvious that even Kevin could get it. Wait, no…"

The girls reached the Morgendorffer house, a muted throb of music coming from the lounge. Both Helen and Jake's cars were there, and Erin's (with the recent dent in the front and vomit on the door).

"So amiga, I hear you own… stuff. I shall come up and see this stuff."

"Such a gallant suitor."

"Ha, Tom _wished_. I'm all 'burger-backseat' and oh god, please pretend I said a different name than Tom…"

Daria opened the door and stepped in to find both her parents slumped on the coach. Her mother didn't even look up at the sound. Warning bells began to ring in her mind, increasing when her father – grinning nervously, fidgeting, glancing at Helen – stood up.

"Kiddo! Um… I hear- _I didn't _hear anything, I mean I gather… that, er, Tom is leaving Lawndale High next year and…"

His voice trailed off at the stunned look on her expression. An expression that changed to one of fury, rage to shatter planets, an expression that faded to resignation when she punched the wall with all her might and left no mark and no effect but a bruised hand.

"She called and told you."

"We… may have had _a _call, but I don't know if it was from who you think it was! Oh no!"

"Cut the _crap_, 'Snake', and _man up and answer!_"

He looked like she'd struck him. Right at that point, she didn't care.

"Your grandmother called us to talk about Fielding," said Helen, now turning round; she looked and sounded tired. "She was worried you were too scared to talk to us and wanted to break the ice for you. She thought you wouldn't do it yourself."

The worst part of that was that it was true. She wouldn't have.

"Why didn't you just come out and _say it?_ Or did you think I _would _admit it to you?"

"I did."

"Well I _wouldn't,_" Daria spat. "I couldn't stomach more yelling and bitching about Gran or anything about _selling out_. Who the hell could?"

Helen's face was a mask of horror. "You really think we'd say that?"

"Yes."

Silence fell, long and terrible. Both parents looked away, unable to meet their child's eyes, and when they had done so she looked at the floor as well. She couldn't keep looking at the shame and the hurt.

Behind her, forgotten about, Jane had turned pale.

"I'm going upstairs," Daria muttered. "I'll order pizza in for myself."

There was no reply for the first few seconds, and then Helen blurted out "I love you."

There was no reply.

* * *

"Rarrr, human heart!" growled Jane, tapping Daria's model of a heart with a toy dinosaur. "Full of rich, tasty courage, om nom nom!"

She glanced at Daria, flat on her bed with her eyes close. The girl had shown no sign of reaction, not even irritation about being bothered. This had gone on for ten minutes now.

_Okay. Big guns time._

"Well, if we're not going to talk, I'll watch a bit of the boob tube. I hear _American Idol is on._" Pause. "I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna. Don't call my bluff."

Nothing.

"Okay, I'm not doing any good here. I'll go-"

"Please don't."

_Gotcha, _thought Jane. She fell onto the bed next to Daria, and waited for her to talk.

A minute later, Daria muttered: "Jane, I… you… um…"

"I know." She sighed. "Amiga, can I ask you something?"

"Alright."

"Do you actually _want _to go to Fielding?"

Daria didn't respond for a good few seconds, before finally whispering out: "_I don't know. _Sometimes. It's… it would mean leaving."

"Leaving? You'd still be in Lawn-" Jane's eyes widened. "Oh."

"I'd still be in the same house until college but in every way that counts, I'll have left two years beforehand."

"When we first met, you told me that you knew your parents would always have your back. They're not going to stop because you go to St Snooty's Prepatory for Snootiness."

"They wouldn't be abandoning me. _I'd_ be abandoning _them_," said Daria, staring at nothing and the nothing staring back. "I'd be deliberately cutting ties with them in favour of something else, something they'd have no part in. I wouldn't want them. That's what this represents. They recognise that. And so does Gran.

"I could try to avoid that, but… I just don't think I could avoid that temptation."

"So when you say 'I don't know', you mean…"

"I'm just not looking at it rationally." Daria sprang up and began to pace her room. "I'm being stupid. Look at the facts: this will be _better_ for my education and future, and they'd never _want_ to provide that. They never understand things like that, they don't _want_ to, they're stuck in their own teenage years and don't know how to handle mine! They're obnoxious, they're embarrassing, they keep causing problems that I fall into and oh don't get me started on _Quinn_-"

"Daria-"

"Fucking Quinn!" Her voice and pace were getting faster. "What an absolute waste, never done anything except destroy and irritate and she would _never_ understand or want to! Why not be shot of her? There's no _benefit_ to staying! It's just pain and mess and I'd never have to deal with it _ever again_ and and and" Her eyes were starting to tear up. "Ahhhh, _why can't I believe any of that?_"

Without thinking, on pure instinct, Jane rushed forward and grabbed Daria into a hug. The girl pressed her face into Jane's arm, every sob choked back.

"And Grandma wants to help me, she's she's the only one who thinks I could be somewhere better, can _act_ on it too, I don't have to be embarrassed and she doesn't go on about how I won't rebel in the right way and there's no violence and there's, there's, th-th-there's _help_ and someone who hates the frustration so I don't have to bottle it and there's all these things, so why WHY can't I ignore how she overrules me and makes me feel _wrong and inadequate and I don't know if she really wants me or just what she thinks I am_"

"It's going to be alright," said Jane softly. "It's all going to be alright."

A high keening noise, a scream bit back at the last moment. _"I want to believe that."_

She stayed in Jane's arms for a long time.

* * *

Tom had been forewarned, and had made sure his car would be parked outside the Morgendorffer house. Daria was getting a lift to school so, if it came to that, she'd be able to break down in private.

He was a little surprised when Daria emerged looking exactly as she normally would, Jane trailing along behind.

"Hey look, Tom's car outside my house in a completely innocent way," she said as she opened the door and got in. "Insert random I'm-okay-leave-me-alone protest here. Okay, that's done, now I can be lazy and not have to walk."

Jane got into the back of the car. "Yo."

"Jane spent the last night being blubbered on and catching the emo. But she got to borrow my clean underwear, so she's been compensated. I _say _borrow, I don't really want them back afterwards." She nudged Tom. "Come on. You're thinking of a lesbian joke. Spill it."

"Er, no, thought hadn't crossed my mind yet," said Tom, flustered. Hadn't Daria been a wreck?

"Ah. And now it has. Hoisted by my own petard. Speaking of 'tard, it's time for school and Language Arts first period. On the bright side, we may crash and die en route."

"Always looking on the bright side."

"I'll be a cheerleader any day now. Give me a B. Give me an O. Give me-"

"An R, an E, and a D?" asked Jane.

"Trying to spread the blame around, eh Jane? A true friend."

"Daria, no offence, but did you snort crack before breakfast?" asked Tom.

"Of course not. That'd be on an empty stomach, that would be dangerous."

The whole of the journey was like that. Daria was able to find a sarcastic remark – a number of them quite weak, but she still found them – for anything, right up until Tom parked the car and she could leave. Tom watched her go, then glanced at Jane.

"She's been like this since before she went to bed. I thought she was just putting up a brave face so I'd feel free to sleep."

"I see." He sighed. "Well, I guess she needs some kind of armour right now. If it helps, it helps."

"Daria gave me the okay to tell you everything that she said so she wouldn't have to talk about it again. Oh yeah, she needs anything that will help. And if you can think of anything, please god do it."

* * *

"Kevin!" greeted Daria as she left her locker. "So, what acts of stupidity have you got to brighten my day?"

"Ummmm…" Kevin looked in his schoolbag. "I got some gummi bears if you want!"

"How did you ever out of Junior High?"

"My mum drove me home."

"Kevin, that helped more than you'll ever know."

Daria walked off, the football player's happy "cool!" echoing in her ears, and found herself passing Jodie's locker. Jodie, naturally, was taking things from it. When that included every bit of personal decoration, however, things weren't natural at all.

Jodie saw Daria staring and glared back. "I'm leaving Lawndale, I'll be out of school by the end of month. Happy?"

"Y-You're l-l-leaving school at the end of-" Daria started to giggle, but quickly stifled it. "Sorry, in-joke, sort of."

"I won't miss anyone when I'm at Grove Hill, but I'll especially not miss you, Daria."

She blinked. "Grove Hills, isn't that a boarding sch- Oh."

"'Oh'? If you actually want to insinuate something, _actually do it._"

Daria had meant to stop talking and walk after that, she really had, but something about Jodie's manner just set her off and she snapped out: "You want to get away from your family."

Jodie's lips curled back and she looked ready to punch the other girl, but all she said was: "I thought that was _you_that wanted that."

"Yes."

That, it was clear, was not an answer Jodie had expected. She visibly deflated.

"Fine. Yes. The opportunity came up, Grove Hill invited me to the campus, I pushed my mother to let me transfer there after the summer, and that way I get to escape the car wreck I call my family. Do you want to gloat or what?"

"No, Jodie, I don't want to gloat."

Jodie looked at her; sizing her up, analysing her. Seeing something she felt could understand her.

"My father… you know what happened there. He, he _betrayed_ me and everything he ever – Anyway. And my mother, she has to have done _something_ to provoke that; hell, she's always been pushing me too far, _always_ too damn far and right now she won't pay any attention, and my _sister_…" Jodie looked away. "I can't even _think_ about that." She looked back, almost pleading. "So you tell _me_, Daria: is there any way out except running? Is there?"

"No. We either deal or we leave."

_And god I wish I could decide which._

* * *

Her mobile phone rang, just in time for the end of school. It was her gran.

"Gran, we have a problem," she said upon answering. "You have an evil twin from a parallel universe."

"I-I'm sorry?"

"Well, somebody with your name and voice called my parents and since you _had_agreed to let me handle that, then logically-"

"Daria, I'm sorry, but it was clear you _were not_handling it. I had to do it yesterday, because… Well, I'm in Lawndale now."

"…what?"

"Through favours and contacts, I have arranged a meeting with a senior faculty member at your local country club. It would help if you could make it, but I understand if it's too last minute."

"I don't understand. I don't need this to transfer, do I?"

Her gran chuckled. "No, you don't, but many of the other students will know people, and know people who know people. I'm going to put you on the same level. I'm going to make sure you have the same advantage, that people with influence know you're coming and to keep an eye out."

"I…" Daria fought back the instinct to scream. "Okay, _fine._I'll be there."

"Daria, dear, is everything alr-"

She hung up, breathed in, breathed out; in, out. Behind her, Jane and Tom stood 'hearing nothing'.

"That was Gran. She's got me a meeting at the country club with some guy from Fielding, because who needs academics when you can have favouritism?"

"That's the Fielding motto right there," said Tom. "Well, it would be if it was in Latin. Doing that for you makes sense."

"That's the really annoying part, because it's hard to complain that she's doing it behind my back when it will clearly help me." Daria snorted. "Okay, no, I can do a very good job of complaining. Just… y'know. When she's not listening."

"That's underst-"

"No it isn't, we're talking about _me_. It's like Lex Luthor buying a wig. Something just… Hrr. Doesn't matter. I'm going home."

Jane and Tom looked at each other; Tom nodded, and Jane began to speak: "Wanna come round-"

"Thanks, but no. I have… I have things to take care of."

* * *

Her father was cooking when she got home – you could smell it for miles. Daria moved towards the kitchen, stopped, moved back into the lounge. Then reconsidered and started to head up.

Someone came out of the kitchen, and Daria stiffened until she realised it was Erin. Her cousin looked _tired._

"Gran's been talking to you then," Erin mumbled.

"Yeah, she's pretty good at it. It's like she learnt at an early age."

"Does she ever ask about me?"

That gave Daria pause. "I don't understand."

Erin gave a short, bitter laugh, and walked off to the TV. Daria didn't ask her what she meant, she just kept going up. Once she had the door shut and locked, she'd be safe. Nothing but her thoughts, and the TV could drown them out.

* * *

"SNAKE, NOT A-FUCKING-GAIN!" roared Helen as she came home and was assailed by the smell of burning. "You _never_manage stir-fry, stop trying!"

She entered the kitchen and saw her husband slumped in a chair, staring at the burnt wreck of his cooking. Her anger fell away. He had the same look she'd been having all day.

"Daria likes eating vegetables, right?" he said faintly. "I thought I'd make some. Who knew bean sprouts were so _flammable?_"

"You tried, Snake."

"It doesn't matter anyway. It won't work. I haven't got anything – _anything_– I can give to her, anything she needs or wants – I'm out in the cold! She'll never want me again! IT'S THE OLD MAN'S COSMIC REVENGE!"

Helen grabbed him and shook him. "_No_, fuck that self-pity _bullshit!_ You have _always_been there when you were needed-"

"And what _good_did I ever do her, HUH?"

"_The best you damn well could!_ I've seen you for sixteen years trying your best, even when you didn't understand what was going on or how to respond to her, you _tried_and, and you've raised a intelligent, forthright young lady-"

"Have I done any good, Hellion? HAVE I? HAVE WE?"

"Damn it, I fucking told you, _yes we_-"

Jake raised an eyebrow, and Helen's voice died in mid-rant. And she smiled.

"Oh. Aha. Very clever, Jake."

"No woman stays mopey with Ol' Snakey around!" He embraced her: "You said it yourself, we – _you_– did the best we could, and it was an okay job. We… we just need to have faith in her, that's all."

"I know. I… I wish we didn't have to."

* * *

She'd be expected to wear one of the dresses Grandma Barksdale had bought in Chevy Chase. It was logical. All she had to do was choose between them.

It was taking a while. If Daria was honest – and able to think – she'd realise she'd been simply staring at them for the last fifteen minutes, trying to keep her mind a blank. Trying not to face things.

"Deal or leave," she started to whisper. "Deal or leave."

_Look at it logically. Rationally. You _can't_choose logically and rationally, we've established that. Now why is that? Too much conflicting data, or… or not enough data? Maybe we need more. Data that can fill in some of the blanks. You know there are blanks. Why do you hold back around Grandma Barksdale, for one. You need more information._

You need to

get yourself_ that information. Think that through._

An idea came to her, one she tried to suppress for a few minutes, but it was the best she had. She took one last look at the dresses, and then turned to her phone.

"Jane? It's me. There's… there's something I need you to help me with."

* * *

"I can do it, but... Daria, are you _sure _about this?"

"Nope," in a mock-cheery tone.

"Fair enough."

* * *

Tom rarely went to the country club and he rarely wore smart clothes, and the two rarely met except on occasions when it could not be avoided. The last thing Kay Sloane had expected was for her son to tag along with her to Sedimentary Rock, wearing a subdued suit and matching trousers in the process. It was painfully obvious there was something going on.

When she caught him looking casually – 'accidentally' – at a specific table several times, she gave it a glance herself. There was Bryce Cafferty, the Economics tutor at Fielding, having a casual drink with an austere looking elderly woman.

"He's only ever seen you in your 'casual' clothes, hasn't he?" she said quietly.

Tom looked confused. "I'm sorry?" He looked back at the table and recognition dawned. "Oh, _him._ Nope, nothing to do with him. You've got a devious, distrusting mind, Mum." Then: "I mean, you're _right _about everything except my choice of target, but still..."

"Do you know that woman?"

"Daria's grandmother. The two are meeting up and..." He looked at her, judged he could trust her. "And I intend to be _coincidentally _here if need be. It's that sort of meet."

Kay kept quiet after that. It was more than she'd wanted to know. If she was honest with herself, she wanted to know _less _about the girl her son was dating; the more she knew, the more uneasy it made her.

* * *

"I'll be frank, Edie." Cafferty paused to take a sip of his wine, deliberately stringing things out (she bet he used that tactic in the classroom too). "When Alex asked me to meet with you, he was rather... how shall I put it? _Obligated_about it. Is there anything I should know?"

"I'm afraid Daria got nervous – first time meeting her state senator – and didn't think before speaking," said Edie. "Please remember that she hasn't moved in the right circles before."

Cafferty looked her over with his beady eyes, and she hoped that would be enough for him (blast Alex McManus, a visibly reluctant favour was worse than having no favour to call in at all). After a while, he nodded, satisfied.

"As long as she can adjust."

_You deliberately waited until the last minute before asking that, so I could not inform Daria of the cover story. Ha. Transparent . Pointless too, she's quick enough to work it out herself._

She rarely played these games anymore but some things you just didn't lose – you couldn't afford to lose. Only Rita had ever learnt the tricks herself, though. Amy and Helen _wilfully_ didn't learn them, in her opinion; cut their own noses off to spite _her_face. And Rita, let's be honest, was merely running to stand still and failing at that.

Daria would be different. Daria would be the best of the lot, the one she couldn't produce the first time round. Daria would get it _right._

* * *

Jane, lack of license and all, had 'borrowed' Trent's car and driven her to the country club; she was going to wait outside until Daria was done, claiming she'd wanted to sketch the place anyway. Daria didn't call her on it.

_Here we go. The only way out is straight through._

The doorman gave her a look, but as a registered guest of a member he had to let her in. She got more looks as she went in, mostly bemused. Bemusement wasn't so bad. It could be worse. It probably would be.

_Now is a bad time to think of a better plan._

She found the table easy enough. She could see her grandmother and the Fielding professor, the latter clearly bewildered, the former freezing in mid-greet and only _just_keeping down a look of horror. Grandma Barksdale had not expected Daria to turn up in her usual clothes, combat boots and all. And she certainly hadn't expected Daria to have a shock of bright-green hair.

"Hi Gran. Hi, er..."

"Bryce Cafferty." He stuck out his hand to be shook a few seconds too late.

"You're probably wondering about the hair. I had a bet with my friend Jane," she lied. "Double or nothing on whether the next student questioned in History would get yelled at when they answered wrong. The next student was our quarterback. Nuff said."

"I-I see."

"Bryce is the Economics professor at Fielding!" said Edie, faster and harsher than normal. "One of the more senior members."

"He knows where the bodies are buried?"

"I wouldn't put it quite that way, Daria," said Cafferty. "There's no 'bodies' at Fielding-"

"Well, that blows the anatomy classes out of the water." She smiled, to make sure he knew she was joking (he gave a brief, unconvincing laugh). "But no, I've heard lots of good things about Fielding. And some bad things, but that one about Satan heading the Alumni board was probably a lie. He's a Lawndale High man, as in that's where he's going for his sins when _he _dies."

"Yes, I have heard some rather grim things about that school."

"Not that it's the only reason Daria wants to transfer!" broke in Edie. "Is it, Daria?"

"No, if I simply wanted a transfer I'd commit a crime and get sent to juvenile prison. It'd look better on my college application than Lawndale. Fielding, unlike prison, has a reputation for academic excellence. And a reputation for making lots of contacts that can be used in later life, which _is _kind of like prison."

"Does that make the Alumni's the mafia?" asked Cafferty, sounding genuinely curious.

"I think that's an FBI matter." Daria finally took a seat, keeping her face neutral as she watched her grandmother's face become a mask. "So, Mr Cafferty: will your Economics class maintain the standards I have come to expect, namely incomprehensible graphs, ill-thought out trips to a random mall, and at least one flatulent student in front of me? Actually, don't answer the third one."

"I think a few less jokes would make it easier for Bryce to understand your questions."

"I try to look on the bright side of life. Look at my smiling face."

Cafferty snorted, and then looked embarrassed at the social faux pas. Daria winked at him.

_I can't keep this up, I can't, I FOCUS. You CAN. Be rational, focus on the endpoint. You'll know. You HAVE to know._

"So back to the class..."

* * *

It was another twenty minutes before Cafferty, claiming essays to mark, bid his farewell. Daria saw him out by humming the first four lines of Fielding's school anthem, her hand giving a 'rock' gesture. She waited until he was out of sight, then turned back to her grandmother and watched the mask drop away.

"Did your mother put you up to this?"

"That's an interesting choice of words. No, she has no idea I got my hair dyed green. And with luck, she never will. She's been trying to get me to-"

Edie slammed her hands on the table. "_Enough!_" A sharp hiss, trying to show rage without attracting any attention. "I've had enough of... of those _antics_. The whole _conversation_, you kept making light and-"

"This is how I _always _talk, Gran." Her voice was still low.

"Daria, you have never once talked like that-"

"In your presence, no. I had to ask myself why that _was_." Her voice was still low, and not shaking. "It was because you made me nervous. When I was a child, you constantly berated me for not meeting the proper standards, not being a normal little girl-"

Edie looked aghast. "I've apologised for that!"

"Not particularly, but that's not what I'm getting at. I still felt like I had to _be someone else_ around you because I didn't want you to be disappointed in me again. I didn't know if you would actually accept me _as me._" Daria took a deep breath, a break to allow her to keep watching her voice. She would not shake. "So I decided to come here as myself, to see what would happen." She took another breath. "The hair was simply to knock you off balance at the start, so I'd be free to establish myself without being headed off at the pass."

The old woman stared at her for a long time, and finally whispered "I cannot _believe_ you pulled a stunt like that _today of all days._ I went out on a limb for _you_ and I get this? You know what it will _cost_me?"

"That's an absolutely brilliant response to what I just said. Were you Hosni Mubarak's speechwriter?"

"_You've let _-" Edie stopped in mid-sentence to lower her voice. "You've let _yourself _down here, Daria, and joking won't change that. You could have had a leg up, opportunities-"

"You sprang this on me at the very last minute, without any warning you were talking to faculty members and without _asking my consent._" Daria did not stop to lower her voice. "And you're responding with anger to your granddaughter telling you she did not feel you would accept her, well isn't that a telling reaction-"

"Daria, PLEASE!" Some heads turned at that and Edie, caught between anger and despair, noticed this and waited a few seconds to compose herself. "It was not my intention that you'd feel that way, I am truly sorry you feel that way, but you have to understand what you've thrown away by acting this way, you _need to understand _how to-"

"When was the last time you spoke to Erin?" Daria said, and was disappointed at the look of horror on her grandmother's face. "I see. I'd hoped I was wrong. You can do a speech about networking and opportunities if you really want, but the important thing is that I still can't trust you to accept me for who I am and that I can't trust you not to _drop me _if I get into socially embarrassing trouble."

Silence.

"You can prove me wrong," she pleaded.

"Why won't you ever let me help you?" whispered Edie.

Daria drew in one final breath and then left the table. She did not look back. She did not shake or falter.

She wanted to.

"Oh hey, Daria, didn't see you come in." It was Tom. "And you're clearly not going to buy that."

"Kevin wouldn't buy that." She waited a few seconds. "I heard a theory that normal couples sometimes make out outside of buildings."

"I… don't think asking 'are you sure' is the very romantic thing to do after you've said that, but…" Tom looked at his feet, embarrassed. "Uh, having an argument, suddenly wanting physical stuff when you normally don't… er… It seems…. Er…" She stared at him, and he finally blurted out: "In the context, I'd feel uncomfortable. Like, _really_uncomfortable. Because I'd, y'know, be…."

She kept staring and then, finally, smiled. "Tom, right now, that's the most romantic game in town. And you're right. Pizza?"

"Ah, a better prize then. Your hair looks nice, by the way."

"Har de har."

* * *

"Bryce? It's Edie. Thank you for everything, but… well, circumstances have changed and Fielding's off the cards. Yes, I'm sorry too. Oh, it's not something you want to concern yourself with – it's a… a family affair. No, nothing like that, god no.

"What? Well, I don't want to be offensive, but knowing what decision you'd have made won't really affect anyth-"

"Oh.

"Yes, that's quite true. Good point. Thank you. Give my love to Alex."

She hung up her phone and stared ahead.

* * *

Later that night, Daria crept into her house, after she'd made sure to wash her hair at Jane's and after her and Tom had… well.

Sprawled across the sofa were her parents, both asleep and clearly having been drinking. (Someone, almost certainly Quinn, had doodled on their faces with a marker pen) They appeared to have tried to wait for her to come home but managed to mess it up.

Daria went upstairs. She came back down with the sheet from her parent's bed and draped it over them best she could. Her mother mumbled something in his sleep.

"Love you too."

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the most angst that'll be in Esteem for a while… unless I'm lying to you, but would I do that? (Maybe)

* * *

ALTERNATE ENDINGS:

**#1**

"Bryce Cafferty," said the man. "But my friends down the Zon call me Brutal Cafferty."

"Your friends down-" Daria's voice trailed off as, to her horror, Cafferty's hair turned spiky and red before her very eyes. She turned to her grandmother, who was in ripped denims and headbanging to the club's tinned Vivaldi, except in mid-stream it mutated into Pet Semetary.

"How- _how_-"

And then she remembered her hair. Her dyed, punk-style hair.

"Oh god. I've opened the gateway. Doing this has _ensured that now ANYONE can be punk._" She looked down and saw she was clad in black leather. "NO! I TAKE IT BACK! HEEEEEELLLLPPPPP"

**#2**

"Save it!" spat Daria. "You're a bitch" [100pts!] "this club sucks" [100pts!] "I've got beef, let's DO THIS."

"Daria…" Edie looked puzzled. "Are you fighting me to get in with your parents?"

"No. I'm fighting back for _me._"

Daria snapped back in surprise as a glowing blue sword emerged from her chest.

**DARIA MORGENDORFFER GAINED THE POWER OF NOT TAKING CRAP **

Edie snarled, drew a sword from nowhere, and leapt at Daria – the girl made her own leap, both screaming towards each other in a blur of digital colours, eyes matching…

**VS MODE!**


	21. Good Sports

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 21: Good Sports**

Daria stared at the bowl of cereal like a Pope who'd gone to Amsterdam's red-light district by mistake.

"Dad, this is _healthy_. Are you feeling alright?"

"As responsible parents, we care about our beloved daughter's health and daily nutrition!"

"You've made Dad _sell out_, Daria!" spat Quinn, thumping the table. "_SELL OUT!_"

"No, no, we just, erm..."

He looked to Helen for aid, a lost man at sea clutching at driftwood, and she tried gamely with: "Well, just because we have a hardcore, take-no-prisoners lifestyle, doesn't mean we don't care about a good, healthy breakfast!"

"Then why don't you eat the cereal first?"

Helen and Jake paled. Daria took pity on them and said: "If you want to eat bacon that's so greasy it can clog other people's arteries by osmosis, that's fine-"

**"THANK CHRIST!"**

All three punks dived for the fridge, and she calmly started to eat. Things still weren't back to normal at home and it would be a while before they were, but she'd been embarrassed by people's behaviour at breakfast and her father had spilt food all over the floor just now, so this was _almost _a normal breakfast.

Erin lurched into the kitchen, saw Quinn's cornflakes rapidly dissolving in their milk, and rushed to the sink (almost) so her stomach could verbalise (and visualise) its protests.

"We are family," crooned Daria in monotone.

* * *

The security line at school was moving slowly again, as Andrea had got just one more piercing and that had caused the metal detector to finally give up & die. Steve had dispatched another security guard to fetch "the emergency replacement" (a magnet).

"Sooo..." asked Jane, "how're you doing on the Gym thing?"

Tom blinked. "Gym thing?"

"Ms Morris is trying to sneak cheerleading practice into Gym again," said Daria, "and Jane and I have protested by refusing to take part. We are both principled and lazy. Luckily, Mum wrote me a note."

She handed the note to Tom, who read out: "Daria is excused from your cheer-fascist indoctrination, and you'll listen if you know what's good for you. Signed, Helen Morgendorffer."

"Trent wrote me a note too," said Jane. "Well, _I_wrote it. He scribbled 'yeah, what that said' and his signature at the bottom. Now I just need to get one for Maths, saying 'Jane is excused from doing any tests or homework'."

"Unfortunately, we live in the real world, so you'll have to study if you want to get your C average back." Daria thought that through. "Or you can join the football team."

"Study or hang with Kevin. Choices, choices."

They'd all heard about Kevin getting a "bye" on the ethics test yesterday, after Coach Gibson 'had a word' with the teacher about the lad's need to keep a C average to stay on the team. More accurately, they'd _over_heard it. And Mack's extremely loud and angry response. Even now, Kevin was trying to hide behind another student so Mack couldn't see him (a shorter, thinner student).

"And Ms Morris thinks my family are deadbeats. And she's right, but... I think I just killed my argument there. Anyway, the important thing is, who cares what she thinks?"

"You do," said Daria.

"Hoisted by your own petard there," added Tom.

"But I get your point," the misanthrope continued. "They're _your_ family. It's _your _job to be ashamed of and disparage them."

"Not that I need to. They'd have to be _around _for that to be necessary." Jane was silent for a second, and then carried on with: "So how's your own family?"

"Wealthy and numerous, thanks for asking," said Tom.

"It's alright," said Daria. "My parents are walking on eggshells and Quinn keeps glaring at me for that, but things are improving now they know I'll not be going to the successful nice school but the impoverished, Orwellian cesspit instead."

At the front of the security line, the guards were amusing themselves by picking up paperclips with the magnet.

* * *

The school hallways were alive with the sound of really, really desperate jocks touting their sports clubs. The Fashion Club, as ever, had an opinion that was based on calm logic and cool reasoning:

"Tt. Could you imagine having to _wear_ those uniforms, and... _lycra?_" Sandi shuddered.

"And you'd get all sweaty and your makeup would smudge!" said Stacy.

"And what guy's are going to find _that _attractive anyway?" sneered Elsie.

"Thaaaattttt's sooooo truuueeee," said Tiffany, who had no idea what the discussion was about and was going with her usual fallback answer.

A few steps away, Daria and her friends walked along; none of the stalls bothered trying to get _her_ attention. Mildly curious about what was going on, she decided to ask the boy manning the basketball club stall. (He looked _offended_that she was talking to him)

"Li wants the sports teams to have some fresh blood in case that 'facilitates our improvement'," he grumbled.

"I'm not familiar with your alien ways and customs, Sports Man, but doesn't this normally happen at either the beginning of a semester or the beginning of a school year?"

He shrugged. "School's rep is bad these days. There was that mess with Amazon Modelling, that paintballing trip that went wrong, that Leaks site, Tommy Sherman's visit, that Ted guy, the Yearbook ceasing to exist because the photography section is effed..."

"Ahhh. This is a desperate attempt to get some _positive_attention before the end of the year."

"Yeah. Now can you please stop talking to me? People will think we're _friends_, and I'm on thin ice socially after it came out I like ballet."

"This means the clubs will take _anyone_," said Tom as they walked on. "Finally, my dream of joining Women's Volleyball can come true."

They caught up with the Fashion Club, who'd just got dissed by some dude who was on the track team (Evan, it turned out his name was). Said dude remarked with surprise to Jane "It's hard to believe there's anyone alive who still thinks athletics isn't ladylike," followed by a general comment that women could excel at any sport they put their minds too.

"I definitely agree with that," said Daria.

"Me too," said Jane. "I'd like to sign up for the team."

"And I thought we'd be partners at volleyba-" Tom stopped speaking when he saw Jane was _serious_. He looked at Daria for guidance, but found only more confusion.

* * *

The tryouts were after school, and Daria and Tom found themselves mooching around the car park waiting for Jane. The Maleficent Eleven and the potheads, veterans of the car park mooch, eyed these newcomers with suspicion. The Eleven even started talking in code, specifically the ode-cay that oes-gay ike-lay is-thay, making it really obvious what they were saying that they didn't want the otential-pay nitches-say hearing (especially when Burnout Girl asked "why are you moving the start of those words around?").

Sometimes, someone came by to actually collect their car. They were glared at too, with Dave heard muttering "what do _they _want?".

"Jane on a team. A _school_ team. A school _sports_ team. Maybe she'll have to hang around Kevin _as well as _study."

"Truly a hell on Earth," said Tom. "I can't believe this. I never thought _Jane _would waste her time like that."

"Waste her time?"

"Well, she can run anytime, right?"

* * *

Jane had just faced Morris down, resisting the urge to outright snark when her presence had been questioned ("I'm here for the crack deal!"). She couldn't get shown up yet. She had to run. Run fast and well. So Morris would shut her goddamn mouth and get it into her head that she – and some of her family members, but this was mostly her – wasn't a deadbeat and could damn well kick some ass.

That was it. That was all she was here for.

Boy, Evan sure was sexy.

"So, you think you're ready for track?" he asked, mock-seriously.

"Yeah. I figure if the people suck I can always wear my iPod."

Evan pulled his out of his pocket. "Way ahead of you."

"Until we get out there." Smirk smirk.

She went with the iPod after all, going with that song from Top Gun. With both Morris _and_ Evan watching, she made sure she wasn't seen for _dust_.

* * *

Jane was taking her time. They'd been waiting in the car park for longer than they'd planned. To their surprise, while the potheads had since lurched home, the Eleven were still there.

"Quinn?" asked Daria. "Are you planning to stand here threateningly until _every_teacher and janitor has gone home? You'll need to pee at some point..."

Quinn glared daggers. "We're not leaving before _you do!_ That'd make it look like you owned the car park, and that would mean we'd _lost_. And we've been peeing on Mr Ewing's car. That'll teach him to give us a surprise maths test!"

"I followed the logic there," said Tom. "I feel like Dian Fossey."

The standoff continued for a good few minutes – Koichi even tried to sneak off home, so Quinn hit him. Death Rowe, the Eleven's affiliate member, was called in to turn up and help bulk up the numbers, and soon the malcontents were taking it in turns to give Daria and Tom threatening looks. (They waved back)

Finally, Jane arrived, smiling a distant smile.

"Found your way at last?"

"Oh man, lost track of time. I was busy talking to Evan... _Say nothing, Sloane_. You can speak, Daria, you'll just say 'um' a lot."

"So... you made the track team."

"Yeah."

The two girls looked at each other, and Jane quickly looked away. Daria was a few seconds late before finally saying "Congratulations."

"No big deal, really," muttered Jane. "Just a bit of fun, won't mean anything to anyone."

"Jane, it will be a big deal, but I don't care. You deserve the opportunities. Speaking of big deals, want to take advantage of Pizza King's new supersize deal?"

The trio walked off, and the Maleficents watched them go, glad they could finally use a bathroom (Ewing's car lacked toilet paper). The track team did not come up in the conversation. Daria was glad, because if they'd talked about it, Jane would've been embarrassed and self-depreciating, and _she'd_ have to come close to... well, being emotionally open, _this_ soon after Granpocalypse. And because it _did_bother her a bit, that she had recently given up a shot at opportunity and advancement after so much stress, and suddenly Jane had her own shot fall into her lap.

She'd have snarked about it, except Jane was clearly embarrassed by that and was worried it'd bother her. Except she snarked everything, so if she _didn't _snark, would Jane think- oh screw it.

"So did they teach you the special handshake so college interviewers know you're one of the brotherhood?"

_Hrr. I wonder if Quinn ever needs to deal with tricky social dilemmas?_

* * *

"I didn't realise Death was coming to hang, I only bought _eleven_ cans," said Andrea, distraught. "_One of us will have to go without any booze!_"

Everyone looked to Quinn for guidance – and, she knew, if she didn't think of something fast, the thirstier among them would look to her as a potential "one of us". So, quite logically, she yelled "FIRST MAN TO FALL LOSES OUT!" and headbutted Shaggy before he was ready.

* * *

The next day, Jane was at track practice and wasn't available for the usual trip home. That would have left Daria alone with Tom except, to her surprise, her parents had turned up in the car. (A nervous security guard was aiming his Taser in their general direction, just in case)

"Sweetie!" beamed Helen. "We heard about this new museum exhibit up in the city-"

"This is completely spontaneous, we didn't use Google!"

"Shut up, Snake – and we thought it'd be a fun outing to take you there! You like science, right?"

Daria blinked. "The last time you took me to a museum, I was ten. And Dad was thrown out after he got too emotional at the Aztec exhibit and tried to attack a model conquistador."

"**LOUSY, POOFY-TROUSERED BASTARDS!** Um… I mean, no way that'll happen _this_ time, kiddo! We're going to be well-behaved and shi- and _stuff!_"

She looked at Tom for help, but found only confused horror. It was a logical reaction for him to have. She, on the other hand, was going with embarrassment and _desperately_ trying to hide it – her parents were _trying_. Letting them realise how badly they were failing would be like kicking a puppy in the face with steel-tipped boots.

"Sure, I can catch up with TV later. You want to come along, Tom?"

"No, but at the same time _I want to see how this ends_," he whispered.

"I'll take photos." Back to her parents: "Well, it's just the three of us."

"Deadly!" Helen hugged her daughter, in full view of _everyone_ (_but_, Daria thought, _at least I don't need to worry about my popularity getting hurt_). "This will be a nice, fun family day out!"

* * *

"They did WHAT to Oppenheimer? LOUSY GOVERNMENT BASTARDS **THE MAN TAKES EVEN THE ONES THAT WORK FOR HIM, THE TWAT!**"

Jake, unable to find any embodiment of the 1950s American government to headbutt, headbutted the nearest bin instead.

"OW DAMN IT!"

"J Edgar Hoover, more like J Edgar _Whore!_" spat Helen, flipping off the sentence mentioning the man on a museum sign. "God damn it, I'm in a mood, we're getting drunk and burning something after…" Abruptly, she realised Daria was watching and switched to "…after we've finished the museum trip and taken Daria home and…"

"I think," said Daria gently, "we'll skip the Wartime Science section on Alan Turing."

Too late, she realised they should have skipped the section of German rocket scientists too.

"LOUSY MURDERING SLAVE-USING **VEE THIS ROCKET, VON ****BUM!**" yelled Jake as he headbutted _through _the photo of Werner von Braun.

"Our daughter's not with us!" claimed Helen as the museum security descended. "She's not involved, honest!"

The guards took one look at Daria and agreed that she was unlikely to be involved.

"I am become shame, destroyer of minds," said Daria, but nobody got it.

* * *

Jane was learning two things about the track team. The first was that she really loved the track part of it, getting to run and beat people and get congratulated for her prowess; even _Morris_ was cheerleading her now. The second thing was she really, _really_ didn't like the _team _part of it.

There was the irritating undercurrent of jealousy from some of them, people who didn't like being shown up, but she'd known to expect that. She'd forgotten, however, that she'd be hanging around with jocks, ones semi-high up the school's hierarchy. It was a world she normally avoided but, this time, had to listen to in mind-boggling detail.

"And she's actually _going out with Brian_," scoffed Siobhan (don't call her Chipmunk don't call her Chipmunk ignore the chipmunk-ear shaped hair buns CHIPMUNK _CHIPMUNK_). "I mean, _really._ He doesn't have a car and he totally _blew _that last basketball game…"

"She must be _desperate_," snorted Jennifer. "But at least she hasn't resorted to slutting out like _some _people…"

"Tanada, right?" sniggered Les, a guy who was apparently in Jane's classes but she'd never realised until now. "She got some of the Lions, but now she's trying to have them _in public_– pbbt, like any of them would go that far… You heard about that, Jane?"

"Can't say I had," Jane snoozed.

Siobhan gave her a look of _pity_. "Well, here's the basics: Tanada, who recently broke up with Ryan, has-"

"_Evan!_" Jane waved at the approaching runner, hoping to god he'd have a new topic of conversation. "How's tricks?"

"If I practice, I can saw Ms Morris in half." He gave her a smile. "Know anywhere good to hide the pieces?"

"O'Neill's class. They might think he did it. Two birds!"

"Smart!"

"That's disgusting," said Jennifer.

"And they wouldn't think he did it, because he'd freak out and have a heart attack at the sight," said Les. "Better put it in DeMartino's class."

Jennifer looked like she intended to say that was still disgusting, but the rest of the team decided Les' idea was a good one. All of them sounded _really_ keen on the idea of framing DeMartino and having him sent away, which Jane didn't find surprising – _jocks don't like DeMartino? I'm SHOCKED. And I hear there's gambling at Rick's establishment_– but found a little uncomfortable. She vaguely liked the man, he was amusing.

Luckily for her, Evan changed the conversation: "So Jane, doing anything tonight?"

_Ohhhhhhh wwwwwoooooooowwwwww._

"Eating and sleeping." She flashed a grin. "Got anything better?"

"As a matter of fact, there's this nice little restaurant…"

Okay. Not _all _of the "team" part was bad.

* * *

Everyone was seated at the dinner table; they'd even got Erin out of her stupor. Helen gave Jake a nervous look, and then said, slowly, "today I think it would be interesting if we discussed classic literature".

Quinn got up and left the table.

"So… The Grapes of Wrath. That sure is a classic of American literature and an indictment of the Great Depression and the suffering of the Oaks!"

"Oakies," muttered Erin, eating her dinner with robot-like pace.

"Right! Them! So…"

There was a long, embarrassed pause. Both adults looked at Daria expectantly. She looked back.

"What do _you _think of it, sweetie?"

_Do I answer honestly or pretend the book's about space aliens to see if they'll notice? Hmmm._

"Well, it is an admirably unrestrained – for the time – take on the conditions of the Okies. And, of course, a vicious attack on how big farms exploited the desperate and destitute workers-"

Her parents sat bolt upright.

"Oh my god, WE HAVE TO READ THIS BOOK!" roared Jake, fire in his eyes.

Daria thought for a second. "I bet the library has a copy-"

Helen and Jake rushed out to the car, off to drive out to the (closed) library, leaving Daria in peace as planned. She sat back to enjoy the food, then realised Erin was still sat next to her, showing no sign of noticing what had happened.

"So… Erin. Erm, how's things?"

Erin started to dry heave but, for once, nothing came out.

"I'm assuming that's the result of drinking too much and not a deliberate act of narrative irony."

"Whatever," she muttered. "Not like I've got anything else to do."

"That's _true_, but… um… In retrospect, I'm not the best person in the world to ask 'how's things'."

Erin looked at her, her eyes unreadable, and finally sighed. "Well, you _did _ask. It's been a while since anyone else did." Pause. "Thanks."

Daria didn't know how to react to that, to it being out in the open how depressed and abandoned her cousin felt, to what being thanked in this context meant. She didn't know how to reply.

So, on instinct, she asked "Want to watch a really lurid and pointlessly violent movie?" instead.

"Sure."

The two moved to the lounge. As the DVD started up, Daria's phone rang: Jane.

"Hey. We're watching Orgy Of The Blood Parasites – if you hurry, you can catch the scene with the exploding kidneys."

"Can't," replied Jane, odd sounds in the background. "On a date with Evan-"

"_What? _Erm. I mean… well, I mean 'what?' really."

"Uh-huh. Thanks for the vote of confidence. He's a fun guy to be with, it's nice. Aaaanyway: my first track meet's tomorrow. It'd mean a lot if you came along."

"Have a chance to avoid my parent's next 'we are good parents right?' plan. Sold."

After Daria hung up, Erin asked: "Exploding kidneys?"

"Hmmm. I'll get you a paper bag."

* * *

When Daria and Tom reached the track meet, Trent was already there. Talking to himself.

"Yeah. Cool. Yeah. Yeah. Cool."

"Has Pothead Ed been cutting his gear again?" asked Daria, cautiously.

"Oh, hey. No, not you, Daria. Sorry." Trent tapped his ear. "Got a Bluetooth. That way, I can discuss creative matters with the band and _still _support Janey. …yeah, I told you I was doing that. Yes, I'll get munchies on the way back."

"Tom. Hold me. I'm scared."

"I'm scared too," said Tom. "Will you hold _me_?"

"It can be arranged."

"Hmmmm…" Trent paused. "Hey, guys, try this: _If I hold you will you hold me, or will I be left in misery, in this world that is… upsetty! _I may have to change that last… hmm. Point. Cool."

Down at the track, the runners stood poised – Lawndale VS Oakwood. Jane was to the right, head bowed and focused on the track.

And Morris blew her whistle and Jane moved like the hounds of hell were behind her. Within fifteen seconds, everyone else was behind her and falling fast. The Lawndale supporters stared in stunned silence, and then roared their approval.

"Go, go, kick butt," said Daria, smiling.

"Whooooaaaaa. Guys, new idea: _Run run little sister/Ignore the blister_…"

* * *

At Pizza King, Jane tore into her slice like it had just insulted her mother.

"So, how much TV did I miss while I was at practice?"

"This one SyFy movie, Mega-Maggots VS Metalli-Cockerel, had the finest CGI a Commodore 64 could produce. If it had been sat on."

"I downloaded it and cut out all the bits with people talking and characterisation," said Tom.

"If only we could do that in real life," said Jane.

"Speaking of-" Daria began, before she was cut off by Mack's arrival.

"Hey, Jane! Congratulations. First place is pretty impressive."

"Yeah, I pretend I'm running from a pep rally."

Mack winced at the nearing sound of "Yo, bro!". "Speaking of running…"

"So anyway," said Jane, "what were you say-"

Evan arrived, sliding into the seat next to Jane; she looked a bit surprised, then smiled.

"Hey, team-mate!" He turned to Daria and Tom. "Did you see this girl run like the wind?"

"Oh yeah. If zombies turn out to be fast after all, Jane will survive to repopulate the Earth with Baltar."

Evan chuckled. "That's pretty funny." He got up again, adding "see you at practice, speedy" to Jane as he left.

"I don't think he got the joke," said Tom. "I'm not entirely sure I do either."

"That's because she presumably meant Usain _Bolt_, the Oh-Eight Olympics sprinter," said Jane. "Oh Daria. Who knew you failed at knowing sports?"

"Hey, hey, hey, it's the track star!" crowed the incoming Kevin, Brittany in tow. ("Speaking of "failed at knowing"," muttered Daria) "You're gonna be like a jock, man!"

Jane raised an eyebrow. "Kevin, you've rarely acknowledged my existence in all our years in school, and you try to get in with me by saying _that?_"

"Sure!" he gormlessed. "Y'see, you're a winner now, and when you're a winner, _everyone _wants to be your friend!"

"Not like those boring loser friends I had who liked me even when I lost, eh?"

"I know!" Kevin then realised Daria was sitting there. "Oh hey, don't worry Daria, I'm sure Jane will still hang out with you when she's not around more popular people."

"Because merely being within three centimetres of me in public will destroy her popularity."

"Yeah, probably…" He realised where he was standing. "Awww _man!_"

As Kevin and his girlfriend rushed away at high speed, Jane began to speak quickly and loudly: "So, DARIA, who I am TALKING to-"

"SUM up the DOCtrine of MANIFEST-" Tom cringed under the glares. "Sorry, I couldn't resist."

"So, Daria, you were saying before the interruptions…?"

"I can't _remember_anymore." Daria took a nibble of her pizza. "Oh yeah, Trent's writing a song in your honour. He was up to five verses when he left, though one of them was just 'yeah' repeated over and over. Or he may have been thinking of another song, it's hard to tell sometimes."

"Oh yeah, did I ever tell you about-"

"_Jane!_"

The new arrival was Siobhan, Jennifer behind her; Siobhan kept focused on Jane, Jennifer eyed Daria and Tom with suspicion. Jane looked ready to murder something.

"Don't worry, Shiv ol' gal, I was only talking to my friends."

"I didn't worry. Listen: I'm organising a victory party at Juliet's house-"

"The one you disparage and insult behind her back?"

"Yes, that's the one. Address is 16 Romberg, we're getting a few of the other teams coming- It should be a fun night."

"Sure sounds it!" said Jane. "Well, good luck."

Siobhan was quiet for a bit. "Jane, you're _invited_," she said kindly. "I mean, _duh_. You're _on the team._"

"Yeah, I did figure that. No offence, but I'm kinda beat and-"

"Evan's going to be there," said Jennifer.

Jane sighed, and then looked at Daria and Tom. "Errr… you guys want to-"

"Nah, we're cool," said Tom. "Go have fun corrupting him with your evil sinful ways."

"Does it count as ways, plural when you've only got sloth?" asked Daria.

Jane smiled, getting up to join the other runners. "You forgot lust, fool. See ya around!"

"I didn't know you thought of me that way!" called Daria after the departing Jane, before turning to Tom. "So what did you think of that?"

"Of course she thinks of you that way. All sensible people with eyes do." He smiled, briefly, before changing tone. "Let's just say that I spoke over Jane before Whatsername could imply we aren't 'desirables'. Well, you aren't, I'd get stomached because I bring bling."

"Tom, you're as gangsta as Eliot Ness. This is starting to get annoying, it's like everyone is _trying_ to stop Jane hanging out with us. And that's clearly what those two had in mind, though there can't be any wider conspiracy. Not if _Kevin _would have to be involved."

Tom looked around the room, then smirked. "You know, this does mean we're alone together-"

"_Daria!_"

It was her mother.

"Your father and I were just passing, and we thought this looked like the pizza place you like going to with Jane, so _we_thought-"

"THIS GRAPES BOOK IS AWESOME!" roared Jake from the background.

Tom bonked his head on the table in defeat.

* * *

At the party, everything had got out of control – the dance music was so entrancing. Everybody had got down on the floor. It was a bunch of popular jocks dancing.

_This party sucks,_ thought Jane, as lots of happy people she didn't know danced and snogged around her. _Where's the damn kitchen?_

Evan laid a hand on her shoulder, smiling. "Want to hit the floor in a bit?"

"Sure!" she said, completely ignoring everything she'd just thought.

"Oh hey, have you met the girl's soccer teams new player? They say she's the best goalie they've ever had."

Jane looked at the girl being introduced to her. "Stacy?"

"Oh. You know her already?"

"Nah, must be confusing me with someone else, mate," said Stacy Rowe with the same haircut as she had every day at school. She was relaxed but poised, ready to stop a ball at any moment, and she was perfectly imitating a Mid-Atlantic American pretending to be English.

"Yeah, must be. Stacy I knew thought exercise would cause her make-up to smudge."

"Pbbbt, what a loada cobblers that girl must talk!" Stacy didn't even blink.

* * *

"So how were the shiny happy people last night?" asked Daria, as the girls queued for the security checkpoint.

"I can't remember. I think I was asleep." Jane abruptly smiled. "Evan was alright."

"Enjoy that, because today you've got Gym first thing _and _a Maths test. Your best days are behind you, Lane."

"Heh. You'll see…"

The girls reached the front of the queue, and Steve looked down at this chart.

"Okay guys, Jane's on the Sports VIP list: take away the drug-sniffer dog!"

In the background, an _incredibly _spaced out dog was led away, slobbering as it went.

Once they reached Gym, Jane revealed another perk: casually mentioning her legs felt a bit sore, causing Ms Morris to hurriedly order her to "go watch TV in my office!" so she wouldn't get worn out in Gym.

"I-I kinda don't want to be alone-"

"Ms Morgendorffer, go with her!"

"Anything for the team," said Daria, as the girls walked off. "That's your arch nemesis, huh?"

"She's not so bad when she needs things from you and has to keep you sweet, whatever it takes. Mmmm, _corruption._It smells like…"

"Gym sweat."

* * *

It had been the best Gym class Jane had ever had, and she'd found repeats of a horrible old 1950s serial that she never knew existed ("Death rays, zombie slaves, nuclear robots – man, those Commies were _awesome_"). If she'd felt any guilt about abusing the 'perks' of the track team, that would have negated them. And she didn't, because Gym sucked. Oh, did it suck.

She was a little worried when, after class, Ms Morris had held her back. (_This is going to be a pep talk, isn't it. God help me._)

"Lane, I understand you have a Maths test today."

"Uh… yeah."

"Confident?"

"Nooooo…" _Where is this going? _wondered Jane, an idea about where rising in her mind.

"If you want, I can talk to Mr Ewing and explain to him about the pressures you're under, and how he should take that into account when grading you."

That _was _where Morris had been going.

And she did want Morris to do that. She really did. Why not? It would help her out, she'd probably have gotten a C anyway so really, it was just a bit less stress to deal with. Who'd care? Daria would, but come on, Daria just _cut class_ with her. How much of a fuss could she really mount? Okay, morals, sure, but let's have a _real_ reason to care about doing it just this _once_.

"Ms Lane?"

"Sure."

* * *

Hours later, the kids streamed out of Maths class, yearning for sunlight and joy and colour in the world.

"How'd you find the test?" asked Daria.

"I passed."

"You're pretty confident, unless you're trying to go for nonchalant." She was about to say something else, and then caught herself in time. And stayed quiet.

Jane looked at her, daring her to talk, and then muttered: "I'd have gotten a C _anyway_."

"You actually – I can't believe it! I was going to _joke _that you'd gotten a bye and then thought that was too pissy, and then started to…"

"Hey, you watched TV with me, you didn't mind _that _perk."

Daria opened her mouth, shut it, collected herself, and began again. "I started to think you really had done that, and then I felt _ashamed _of myself for thinking that of you. I expected you to hit me with the righteous anger I deserved. Well, time makes fools of us both, doesn't it."

She walked off.

Jane tried to find something she could feel indignant about in her friend's words but there was nothing there. She could've fought against Daria being righteous – sure, she _was_in the wrong, but she'd known that and not cared, why start? – but not against disappointment.

"Jane?" It was Evan, looking concerned. "You okay? Something happened with your friend?"

"Y-Yeah, you could say that." She smiled weakly. "She had a few well-aimed words to say about me taking a bye on a test. It was…"

Evan put a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Hey, don't worry. People get all jealous and on their high horses just because _they _can't do it. Screw 'em!"

"Heh. That's not what happened, but thanks anyway."

"I don't know why you hang out with her anyway."

Jane blinked: that, she had not expected. "Because of this?"

"Well, partly – you really want to put up with jealousy from someone who'd never be as good as you in the first place? And you're one of the crowd now! Why'd you want to… y'know, hang out with a loser? It just looks weird."

She was quiet for a long time, and then said: "You're right. I've been spending too much time with losers."

* * *

Daria was intercepted by Jane at the end of Language Arts, before she could get out of school. She would have blown the other girl off, except she did _look _like she wanted to apologise; and really, Daria had had enough of losing people these past few months.

"Come to share some of that juicy delicious crow?"

"You were right," muttered Jane. "It was stupid of me to-"

"Of course I was." Daria waved her hand dismissively. "Look, you did the wrong thing but I understand _why_. They gave you a chance to cut a corner, to get ahead without having to do anything. I know how tempting that is." She sighed. "It took _me _weeks to get around to rejecting temptation, I have no-"

"Daria, I love you and everything, but if you try to shoulder some of my blame, it makes me feel worse. So… yeah." Jane was quiet for a minute, then chuckled. "And you know, this all started because I wanted to prove to Ms Morris I'm _not _a deadbeat. Well, hell with it. I'll try and fail on my own merits. Anyway, want to do something?"

"Sorry, I've got a date with Tom. Him, me, the Sloane's huge TV with cinema-quality sound, and Rock Band." Daria blinked. "Wait, you have track practice now. You couldn't do something."

"I… kinda quit. Partly to avoid the temptation, and partly the people… eh, it's just not my world. And I can't believe you thought Evan was cute."

"Yeah, I'm a dope," said Daria, her face betraying none of her thoughts. It was clear Jane wasn't telling her the whole truth there. Well, it had nothing to do with her.

* * *

When she returned home from Tom's house, she found her dad trying to cook pizza. He'd set it on fire. Her mother was spraying extinguisher foam _everywhere_.

"Daria, change of plan!" yelled Helen as she somehow missed the burning dish and foamed _herself_. "We'll be _ordering _pizza!"

"DAMN FLAMMABLE HOT PEPPERS!"

Daria facepalmed. "Mum, Dad… I understand what you're doing, I really do, but _please. Stop._"

"Yes, I see what you mean…" Helen surveyed the mess with embarrassment. "But don't worry, the fire's out now."

"I meant that you don't have to keep trying to make things up to me. I appreciate the gesture and everything, but… I don't know how to word this properly. Let's just say I don't _need_the gestures. I just need to know you're there for me if I need you, and you'll take my needs into account."

"Awww, I wish I'd known that before I bought those Soviet film festival tickets!" Jake looked distraught.

"Hey, I'm not saying don't try to buy my affection with things. I'm sixteen. Keep doing that." Something else occurred to her. "But you _could _start making those gestures for Erin."

"Does… she like Red films?"

Helen patted Jake's head. "I'll explain later." She turned to Daria. "To be honest, I was worried Erin would start screaming at me again… But you're right, she could do with it. I'm going to… I'm…" She looked like she'd be sick. "_I'm going to say she can play Lady Gaga whenever she likes._"

"Well I wouldn't go that far, Mum."

* * *

The next morning, Jane closed her locker, turned round, and found herself surrounded by the track team and Ms Morris.

"Yeah, I know his name is Robert Paulson," she told them.

"Jane, I wish you'd consider coming back to the team," said Morris.

She looked at the coach, who had said that with a distinctly unfriendly expression. The track team were all silent, all looking at her in an obvious attempt to unnerve her (and it was working), and she didn't really sense any friendliness coming from these people who'd been talking to her for so many days recently.

"Am I missing something?"

"The team needs you, and you need the team." Morris paused for effect. "If you don't want to be here taking Math during the summer."

"Gee, that sounds like _blackmail_, you guys," said Jane, looking from tracker to tracker to see who'd look uncomfortable. Kirk-Albert looked a bit pained, but he was it, and he wasn't saying anything. "I can pull up my grades on my own."

Morris smiled coldly. "Then _I'll _flunk you."

Jane looked at the other students again. No response. Kirk-Albert was staring into the distance.

"How about I go to Ms Li about this whole grade-changing arrangement?"

"She already knows."

_Of course._"Okay, back off or I'll call the PTA."

"They already know too."

_That_ stunned her. Was it a bluff? She could buy the PTA knew about the byes, but that Morris would do _this_? Or would they simply not _want_to know? And all the time, the track team looking at her, absolutely no sign of honour and humanity.

_Screw it._ "Hey, Shiv, is it okay if I call you Chipmunk? Ahhh, got a reaction _there_, didn't I? Anyway, how about I call the three local TV stations and tell each one that the other two is running the story?"

Morris paled. "_Damn._"

They all departed as a group, save for Evan. "I don't understand why you're doing this."

"Sadly, I _do _understand why you're doing this."

* * *

The last class of the day was Gym. Gym, where Ms Morris was getting Jane and Daria to do cheerleading drills. To 'make up' for the lost classes. Allegedly.

"Tell me I at least have my integrity," said Jane.

"Integrity's a funny word," said Daria, looking at Morris in the hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd become a Scanner in the next five seconds.

"Well, at least tell me I'm marginally less corrupt than the jocks."

Morris looked _smug_. Daria gritted her teeth.

"You refused to participate in a crooked system where good grades are exchanged for athletic performance. But neither of us tried to reform the system, either."

"For fear of complete teenage exile."

"Right." Daria's joints screamed as she attempted a split. They weren't the only thing that was screaming. "So the system continues, you haven't redeemed yourself, and we're ostracized anyway."

"Come on, now, stop trying to paint a rosy picture," said Jane, sounding unbothered.

Daria looked around. Her body ached, she was being stared at, everything she'd just said ticked her off, and Morris…

Morris had tempted Jane and offered her so much, and then done _that_ when Jane had declined, _that_ in response to _her friend_ not succumbing and trying to be her own woman, _her friend_who had stood by her in her darkest hour, who-

Daria's mind went blank.

"You know what? Screw it."

She got up off the mat and started to walk, and when Morris called out she raised her middle finger and then kept on going.

_Smug bitch. You don't have the RIGHT._

She had to get to her phone quickly, before the red mist stopped and she pussied out. She didn't know the numbers of any local TV station, but she bet the operator would.

THE END

NEXT TIME: I Want To Be... ANARCHY!

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Siobhan last appeared in chapter 14; Evan is named in the See Jane Run episode; Les and Jennifer's names come from a seating chart in O'Neill's class in Café Disaffecto for those characters, and MTV's old site said another tracker was based on a staff member called Kirk-Albert.


	22. Anarchy in the Lawn D

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 22: Anarchy in the Lawn-D**

At approximately 15.00 through 15.10, the three local TV stations in Lawndale County (called in order of how far they were from the school) all heard about the allegations of a major grade-fixing scandal at Lawndale High. At approx 15.11, the Lawndale Sun-Herald also knew, thanks to the backdoor it had hacked into a network's intranet (they'd sent an email to an executive, with a video file and the subject "This cat thinks it's a dog!"), and at approx 15.12 so did the Lwndle Sux citizen journalism blog (their top man had been delivering a pizza and looked at someone's computer).

At the end of the school day, the journalists were swarming to the front door and security was informing Li they had arrived (so she could call in the lawyers). The students streamed past, completely bewildered by the sight. All except those who'd been in Daria's Gym class.

"You've really put the angry statue with a shotgun among the pigeons now, Morgendorffer," muttered Jane. "You should _really_get a lift home from Tom."

"Are you suggesting that snitches are unpopular? Oh rap music, you lie to us all."

They caught up with Tom, who looked freaked when he heard what Daria had done.

"Daria, do you have the _slightest_ idea the crap-pile you're going to face at school for the next, oh, _ever?_Even that fat guy who blows milk out his nose won't go near you in case it hurts his social standing!"

"I ignored it like Quinn ignores the minimum drinking age." Daria then winced: Jane. She hadn't thought of that. "Ummm... Jane-"

"Bit late now," said Jane, her voice neutral.

Daria glanced at Tom, who responded: "Oh what the hell, I'm only here for another three weeks."

As they drove off, the prey of journalists – rabid and starving and realising they'd forgotten to bring alcohol – noticed Kevin in his Lawndale Lions shirt. They _charged_, fighting to get to him, and PBS-LC's reporter only got to him first by farting on command and scattering his rivals.

"Young man, Angel Rodriguez, PBS-LC!" (He gestured for his camerawoman to take the shot) "You're in the football team, yes?"

Kevin looked at the camera, stunned. "_Whoa!_ Yeah, I'm the _QB!_ Awww man, is PBS a sports channel? _AWESOME! _HI MUM!"

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about your last few tests-"

"Awww _man!_ Coach said I didn't _need _to do them! I've been lied to!"

At the front of the school, Steve saw the scene, winced, and called in to Li: "The dyke has a leak, repeat, dyke has leak – Dutch boy needed!"

The scream from her end was so high, the sniffer dogs began to howl (and, in two cases, tried to mate with the radio).

* * *

Once at home, Daria knew she needed to think of what to do if and when the bomb she'd detonated splashed back on her.

And right after she'd watched a lot of TV, she'd get right on that.

_"Are Girl Scout cookie sales cover for a nationwide drug ring? That's the way the cocaine crumbles, tonight on Sick, Sad World!"_

* * *

"Foggy" Murdoch, Lawndale High's attorney and developer of many ulcers, arrived at Lawndale High to find the journalists still there, being bored to tears as Kevin Thompson prattled on about "cool" games, but none of them daring to leave in case _he said SOMETHING ELSE newsworthy_. That's how Murdoch knew things were really bad. (_Screw the recommended dose, I'm taking three pills now _he thought)

He pushed through the journo's with a barrage of "no comment!"'s, and noted with dismay that the staff car park was still full. Li wasn't allowing the staff to leave the building again. Oh god.

"Not ENOUGH to RUIN my WORKING LIFE, I now have to LOSE MY BRIEF MOMENTS OF RESPITE!" came an angry roar from... somewhere.

Murdoch knocked the secret knock on Li's door, waited for the locks to be undone, and entered to see a frazzled Li and two very worried Gym coaches (Morris and Gibson, he remembered).

"I was going to suggest we threaten a defamation case, but since Thompson has been talking around them, we've lost there," he told them. "But since nobody has said that everyone in power was involved-" He noticed Morris looking down, and carried on without missing a beat: "But since nobody has ever _explicitly said_ the grades will be changed on a student's behalf-" He noticed all three people looking down, and carried on with: "But, hey at least you didn't actively threaten grade-fixing on students you didn't like _OH COME ON!_"

"We can claim lies!" said Li, breathing heavily. "We know which student did it, we can claim they lied – she has a _record _of misanthropy, and her friend had... had difficulties in track-"

Murdoch thought fast. "Ye-_es_, possible. You'd have to claim Kevin Thompson was joking – and frankly, the reporters will _want_ to believe he was having fun at their expense and isn't like that. Play it _very _carefully though, we don't want the family suing for libel. Nobody else is going to come forward and support these claims, are they?"

* * *

"Mr Sherman?"

Tommy Sherman looked up from his space at the bar, a drink halfway to his lips. "Well _duh._"

"May O'Nell, Mid-Maryland Network." She flashed her ID and a brilliant smile. "We're researching Lawndale High" (an intern had done two clicks on Google) "and we're led to believe you gave a speech there a few months ago, and, aheh, had some tales to tell."

"After an exclusive?"

"We'll give you $100."

"Done," he said, leaving out that she was the third journalist to come to him after finding Lawndale Leaks. Hey, Tommy Sherman never said he _was _giving them an exclusive...

* * *

There was an interesting smell coming from the kitchen. Jake had decided he was going to be a kindly uncle and teach Erin how to cook spicy pasta combos. The results smelt... _edible._

"I don't think you're doing it right," he told her.

"Asking me to conform?"

"...OH GOD!" He clutched his chest, and then a bottle. And then drank the bottle. Which was chilli sauce and not booze. "GGLGGLGLGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Daria walked in to watch this, mildly amused as her father tried to gargle an entire tub of ice cream, then had to blast it out of his mouth and into the sink to not choke, then fell over breathing heavily.

"So they were right. It _is_ a _woman's _place in the kitchen."

"Never... _conform...!_" gasped out the punk to Erin, before he fell over.

"Er, okay Uncle Jake."

While the kitchen was still being recovered, the doorbell rang. Quinn ran to it dressed in minimal leather, answering with a cry of "I'm almost ready to go out-" before noticing two men in suits. "Oh. Wrong house, dumbasses."

"I'm Mr Murdoch, this is Mr Ford. We're looking for a Daria Morgendorffer."

"...DARIA! Did you... DID YOU GET A _JOB?_"

Daria walked to the door, looking confused, and then showing understanding. "Ah. Of course. Quinn, get Mum please." As the punk stormed off, she carried on with: "I'm assuming you're with some law firm or other-"

"Vitale, Davis, Horowitz, Riordan, Schrecter, Schrecter, and Schrecter."

"Is the third Schrecter a spare in case one of the others breaks down?"

"God I hope n-" Murdoch was elbowed. "We're here on serious business, Ms Morgendorffer."

Helen arrived in a stomping of knee-high studded boots. "All RIGHT you capitalist lackeys! Whatever Quinn – sorry, sorry, force of habit. Whatever Daria is _claimed_ to have done, you better have some reliable witnesses or you'll _have _to chase ambulances!"

"We represent Lawndale High, ma'am, and the school wishes to make a deal with Ms Morgendorffer," said Ford, a man with a gravely and disturbing voice (which is why he was talking). "She has made spurious and defamatory accusations against the institution and several of its employees, and when they are investigated, we require Ms Morgendorffer to formally notify the investigators that she lied. Otherwise, we will take up legal proceedings."

"And you have proof she lied, do you? That's a rhetorical question and the answer is BULLSHIT YA DO!"

"We have a lot of evidence-" Behind Ford, Murdoch held up a fat folder. "-from the school of her behaviour. It would not be difficult to convince a court that-"

"Ah, the old 'stuff a folder with blank paper' trick, eh?" Helen had her arms folded and sounded amused. "Dear oh dear."

"Allegations like that are defamatory to the firm of Vitale, Davis, Horowitz, Riordan, Schrecter, Schrecter, and Schrecter, and we will take action if ne-"

Daria smirked. "To be defamatory, don't you need to have had a good name to began with?"

"Permit me to make things _clearer_: Ms Morgendorffer made false accusations to the local media. The local media is currently being convinced, quite satisfactorily, that it was false – there will be no backing from them. The school, and the district, want to avoid taking a student to court but they can and they will if a deal is not struck."

In the lounge, a recovering Jake overheard things that sounded _serious_, so he dived for the coach and switched on the TV.

"...and while Principal Li told us that the claims were lies by a malcontent student, ex-Lawndale Lions quarterback Tommy Sherman confirmed that grade-fixing had been going on for years. _'Man, Tommy Sherman never even WENT to Maths class after freshman year!'_"

Back at the doorstep, Ford looked like he wanted to cry, while Helen was grinning like Tom after finding both Jerry's legs were broken.

"Oh _dear_. It looks like Lawndale High tried to strong-arm my daughter into _making _false allegations during an official inquiry and was threatening to commit perjury! They'll receive my writs on Monday." She raised two fingers and made a flatulent noise. "DIE DIE MY DARLING! AHAHAHAA!"

Murdoch laid a consoling arm on Ford's shoulder and began to lead him away. "Forget it, Blake. It's Lawndale High."

Helen slammed the door shut and, to Daria's horror, hugged her daughter. "Having lawyers threatening you! Awww, my little baby's all grown up! SNAKEY! QUINN! _DARIA TWATTED HER SCHOOL SO BAD THEY TRIED TO SUE HER!_"

"Wait, you mean _you're_ the lying malcontent who told the truth? KIDDO! TOTAL _ROCK!_"

Quinn looked stunned. "Wait. No. It's - _Daria's _a punk now?"

"SHE'S A PUNK'S PUNK, DAMN IT! YEEEEAAAAAHHHHHH!"

"No," said Daria.

"Well, gah, Daria, if you're going to be a punk, you gotta stop dressing like _that_. Come on, I'll let you borrow some of my stuff – Mum, can you ask Axl to do a house call tomorrow? This will take _work._"

Daria thought fast. "But if I stay dressed like this, the school will immediately recognise me and be afraid, because they know I'm coming. Isn't it punk to strike fear into the hearts of-" She punched the air, unenthusiastically "-the Man?"

Quinn thought this through, then scowled. "All right, Daria. You win _this _round."

"Let's ALL go out to celebrate!" cried Helen. "Quinn, weren't you going to the Zon?"

"Ugly Mofos are playing! At least one person gets glassed at _every _gig they do!"

"Family outing time!" Helen thought for a second: "Erin?"

"No," replied Erin, far away from the scene.

"You don't know what you're missing. Come on, let's go show the Zon the _new _punk in town!"

Daria sighed. "Alright, but only if we can bring our own toilet seat."

* * *

Saturday: Murdoch had to suffer Li in his office, chain-smoking cheap cigarettes. He made a show of going through his notes (one was just "OH GOD" written over and over).

"Well, we're almost certainly going to have a lawsuit from Daria Morgendorffer's family, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to claim this has been blown out of proportion. I would advise that one of your coaches" (he made finger-quotes) "'resigns to avoid bringing disrepute to the school'. This will, of course, mean paying them off-"

"Oh, no need, I've got blackmail material on both of them," laughed Li.

Murdoch covered his ears. "LALALALALALALALALA." He uncovered them. "Once that gesture is done, you'll need to get through the district's internal investigation, which _certainly does not mean cutting a deal_ COUGH COUGH anyway. Then we'll need to think of a defence for the Morgendorffer suit..." He took a deep breath. "Ms Li – _Angela_– the best way out may be to claim a mistake was made and apologise-"

Li looked like a Knight Templar who'd walked into a multi-faiths orgy. "_NEVER._"

"We'll really struggle to find another-"

_"NEVER!"_

He sighed. _Fine, they're paying for it._ "All right. We should be all right as long as nothing _else_slips out, but unless any of the faculty are inclined to blab... Li, are you alright?"

"You have to send lawyers round to Anthony DeMartino's. _NOWWWWW!_"

* * *

"...and by signing this, you agree to stay quiet and also agree that, with your record, it is right for Lawndale High and its legal team to assume you're responsible for any and all faculty leaks."

DeMartino scowled at Ford, like he'd have preferred a flaming bag of dog poo on his doorstep. "I SEE. And if I DON'T?"

"Then my client will have no choice but to fire you for the recorded theft of valuable school production infrastructure equipment."

The teacher worked this out. "You mean the POST-IT notes?"

"It counts as theft. Precedent from the Janet Bradley VS GeneriCorp 2002 case. Nobody ever _proved _GeneriCorp gave that judge a car."

Anthony DeMartino smiled a terrible, unbrushed smile. "VERY well." He took the paper and signed it, then casually held up his mobile phone, which was still in the middle of a call. "Oh, I DO beg your PARDON, but I forgot to TURN MY PHONE off when you CALLED." Into the phone: "SORRY, Mr Sun-Herald reporter, but I can NO lonGER... OHH! You'd like to TALK to MR FORD?"

* * *

Trent woke up five minutes before the Spiral were due to start a live pay-per-view web concert, and made an executive decision that a shower could wait. Luckily, he hadn't changed for bed, so that was a bit of time saved. He lurched off the couch, yawning slightly, and nodded at the waiting forms of his band-mates (he needed to get some locks).

When the doorbell rang, he frowned and went over to see who it was. To his shock, it was Ms Morris from his old school.

"_Whoa. _Ummm, I appreciate the gesture, but I think it'd be a bit too weird if you were one of our groupies."

Morris bit down an angry retort and smiled a fake smile: "Hello, is Jane in?"

"I... think so." Trent shut the door, went upstairs, peeked his head into Jane's room, said "hey", came back down, and opened the door. "Yeah, she's in."

Morris waited. So did Trent.

"I'd like to _talk _to Jane."

"Ohhhhh."

Jane came to the door, her face unreadable, her mouth chewing away at gummi bears. The teacher gave her another fake smile; Jane opened her mouth so she could see what chewed-up candy looked like.

"Jane. I, er, aheh, about that whole 'then I'll flunk you' thing, things were said in the heat of the moment that neither of us meant – not that I'm trying to dismiss things you said! No, no, no..." Seeing that wasn't working, she said: "I'll give you five hundred bucks if you deny the allegations."

Mystic Spiral began to thunder in the background: the song was Hey Mister Normal but Trent was singing "GYM GYM GYM – IT RHYMES WITH **SIN!**".

"You're offering me five hundred to tell everyone my best friend is a liar," said Jane. "I'm sure nothing bad will happen to her as a result. Now tell me more about these bridges you have for sale."

"If you support the school, the school will owe you _and so will every student in sports._" Morris looked Jane right in the eye, nodding slightly as the words registered. "They'll know you could have ruined them and you didn't. They'll all owe you. And you'll have a reputation as the girl who has everyone's back. A _popular _girl."

Jane was silent for a while. In the background, Trent yelled "I SAY GYM CAN GO IN THE BIN!" (with Jesse chiming in with "Hey Mister Normal – IT WAS YOU!" on instinct). Finally, she said: "That's a nice carrot. What's the stick?"

"You _know_ what the stick is. I know you don't want what's coming. You had _promise_, Jane, you could've gone far and still can, you can _easily _be popular when the other kids start looking past your loner image – don't let Daria drag you down."

"Don't hang out with losers, right?"

Morris almost said "exactly", but stopped herself: that sounded like a trap. "You can go far, Jane. It's all in your grasp. And I'll go with _six _hundred."

Jane breathed in and closed her eyes.

Then she shut the door.

_I should have said seven hundred, _thought Morris.

* * *

Murdoch and his team had set up an 'operations room', complete with a whiteboard laying out all the problems and how they interlinked. In the corner of the board was a little stick figure and a cloud of cartoon swearing.

"First's first," said Murdoch. "Marianne?"

"_Everything _in our power is being done to stop Eric Schrecter from hearing this case exists."

"Thank Christ. Next up: we need to prepare an entrapment case against DeMartino, finish an injunction on the Sun-Herald and send a big crate of wine to the judge who'll be hearing it, prepare a defence against the Morgendorffers, prepare a secondary defence for when Lawndale High boots a coach, work out a _plausible _case for Li and the school district..."

Another lawyer raised a hand. "Foggy, about that: Superintendent Cartwright is desperate for a meeting tomorrow."

"On a Sunday? But all good people are in church then!"

All the lawyers had a good hearty laugh.

"Haha, but seriously, schedule him in." Murdoch thought for a second. "And most importantly of all..."

"OVERTIME AND EXPENSES!" they cried happily.

_Now, if things don't get any worse..._

* * *

A bored CNN News Aggregate Technician (Weekend Shift) clicked through the next local news website on his list. "Huh. School corruption scandal. Involves football."

"_Football? _Better pass it up to the news team."

Within ten minutes, CNN had decided this story could be used. Within an hour, MSNBC had heard about it via their mole in the secretarial staff, BBC World Service had heard about it after getting a CNN hack drunk, and Fox News had heard after their man nicked a document through an open window. Within two hours, two dozen big-name citizen journalism blogs – including education news blog Brick In The Wall and anarchist journo Subversion is We – had found out and hurriedly copied & pasted from other websites and/or each other.

* * *

Sunday: Ms Li, clad in her dressing gown and pyjamas, opened the door to collect the milk, yawned, and took in the dozens of cameras and microphones being jabbed her way.

"Code Red security violation – USE THE TASERS!" screamed Ms Li, before remembering she wasn't at school. "Erm. I mean... _no comment!_"

* * *

Steve's phone rang, disturbing him from his day of rest (and his dream about the naked ladies). Yawning, he picked up the phone: "Mrrr?"

"Mr... Steve, this is Sheila Hunter from NBC – I understand you're the head of security at Lawndale High" (the interns had searched on Facebook) "and we'd like to know about the techniques and equipment used-"

"Oh. Hang on. Ms Li gave us something about what we should say if you guys called." He sifted through mounds of porn, beer cans, and a copy of Ulysses, and found it. "Oh yeah, hang on: 'I have no comment to make, except that we follow the full letter of the law and are committed to providing a secure learning environment.'"

"Thank you."

Steve put the phone down, then saw another part of Li's document, highlighted in red: "Don't tell ANYONE you've been told what to say."

"Aw crap."

* * *

Daria had just reached the good part where Hunter Thompson found out that violent, thuggish biker gangs might take your stuff without asking, when her phone rang. "This is Europe – is that London calling?"

"Even better, it's me," replied Tom. "But speaking of reports to Nazi-occupied states, _our school is on the news._"

"Which news network?"

"_All of them._They have reporters camped outside Ms Li's house! They're reporting that nothing's happened there yet!"

Daria paled. "You know that scene in Fantasia, where Mickey realises he's lost control and the mops will just keep going on and on?"

"Oh. Sorry, I thought you'd be happy about this."

"I'm... I'm kinda worried what's going to happen at school. It might be better if you or Jane stay away from a day or two."

"Whoops, sorry, didn't hear that. Line went fuzzy. Anyway, see you tomorrow."

Dara smiled. "Sure."

The instant he hung up, the phone went again: Jane.

"Daria, I just saw the news! School will be _besieged_ with cameras! And _that _means Trent will pay you ten bucks to wear a Mystik Spiral T-shirt on Monday and display yourself prominently!"

"Hmmm. Okay-"

Jake burst in through the door, grinning madly and holding a T-shirt: "Daria! I'll give you ten bucks if you wear a Mystik Spiral T-shirt to school tomorrow! Man oh MAN, this will be a marketing BLITZ and no one has to sell out! HAVE ANOTHER TEN BUCKS FOR THE HELP, KIDDO!"

After he left, Quinn: "Daria, you'll wear this Mystik Spiral T-shirt and I'll give you ten bucks, and if you don't I'll set fire to your stuff. Trent will see _I'm _more supportive of his band than that... that Monique twat!"

Daria took the T-shirt and money, and went back to the phone: "Jane, things are looking up already."

* * *

Murdoch's meeting with Superintendent Cartwright had gone badly. The client kept bursting into tears. Murdoch felt a bit embarrassed patting a grown man on the back and saying "there, there".

As he returned to his team, all looking shell-shocked by the escalation of things, he burst out with: "Right, no more playing catch-up, it's time we went for the big guns! _Contact Mr Vitale._"

The team looked at him, horrified. "Disturb him... at _home?_" whimpered a junior associate.

"Hmm. Point. Marianne, get us some straws..."

* * *

A tent city had sprung up around Lawndale High, containing both dozens of journalists and dozens of very, _very _angry parents with picket signs. Every security guard at the school was trying to contain the chaos out front and separate the two groups.

"SAVE MS LI!" yelled Mr Thompson, holding up a pro-sports sign. "JOURNALISTS GO HOME!"

"SAVE MS LI! JOURNALISTS GO HOME!"

Nearby, Kevin looked mortified. "My dad's become a hippie!" he told Brittany.

"Ummm… I didn't know the hippies were pro-sports."

"Awww, Britt – _everyone's _pro-sports!"

In an act of cosmic correction, Daria, Jane, and Tom turned up. Kevin scowled at them.

"Oh hello, TRAITOR!" he yelled at Daria. "Nice day, isn't it – for a TRAITOR!"

"You can't betray something you never believed in."

He thought about that, and then went with "TRAITOR!" before walking off. The trio watched him go, Daria shaking his head.

"I've lost the respect and camaraderie of Kevin. But maybe there'll be some downsides too."

"Hey, the news crews are pointing their cameras our way. You know the drill…"

Daria and Jane flashed their Mystik Spiral T-shirts, and Jane yelled out the name of the band's website. "But they're thinking of changing the domain name!"

Behind them, a minivan pulled up and started to regurgitate Oakwood High football players in full team uniform. The lead quarterback nodded to his fellows, and they held up signs saying "BRO SOLIDARITY" and "PLAYERS UNITED". Their gesture was wrecked when Kevin yelled "Hey, Oakwood have come to _diss _us!" and the nearest Lions charged them, starting a fight.

The last thing Daria saw before entering the school was Steve running past with a huge grin: "ALRIGHT, TASER TIME!"

Inside the school, students were making out in corridors, playing loud music, and Shaggy, Burnout Girl, and their stoner friends were lit up. Shaggy saw the puzzled looks and said: "All the security guards are _outside._"

"What about the cameras, filming you for later?" asked Tom.

"…oh. Bummer."

"The revolution will be televised," said Daria.

* * *

Every sports player was called out of first period classes (DeMartino wept for joy) for an emergency assembly. Morris, Gibson, and a Principal Li driven by caffeine and booze were waiting for them, a lawyer in the background and two middle-aged journalists dressed like teenagers hiding among the students. (One had dug out his old Frankie Goes To Hollywood shirt)

"My brave paladins of Laaaaaawndale High, I'm afraid I have… I have bad news. We're going to have to cease giving byes for the duration of this crisis, effective immediately. I am truly sorry but _you'll have to do the end-of-year exams on your own._"

Screams and denials and the sobs of broken men & women filled the air. (Except from Mack, who was sighing)

"We also may – and I stress this is only a _may_– have to tighten our belts. The Lawndale Lions may not be getting a post-game Jacuzzi after all."

"Awwww!"

* * *

The second class was, _of course_, Gym, and _every _sports player in the class was glaring daggers at Daria. She waved at them.

"I hear if you show fear, they're more likely to attack," she muttered to Jane.

"All RIGHT, ladies!" barked Ms Morris, looking like she was teetering on the edge of a great abyss and that abyss was full of piranhas. "We'll be starting Volleyball-"

_Shit _thought Daria.

The girls were split into teams, and strangely Jane _wasn't _on Daria's team and everyone else who was ensured they weren't standing near her. Half a dozen angry jocks formed the opposition, all armed and intending to 'miss' the net. Daria had expected this.

The instant the whistle went, Daria dropped to the floor – Jennifer's hurled ball went flying past where she had been and smacked Nikki in the face. At Nikki's cry of pain, every other cheerleader in the class turned as one; Brittany's lip curled up as she spotted the miscreant and threw a ball at _her_head.

"DODGEBALL!" yelled Andrea, joining in, and soon everyone was throwing at everyone else. Morris blew her whistle for calm until someone balled her in the kneecap (Jane then hid behind another student).

Daria started to crawl along the floor to the exit, hoping she was too difficult a target. The hope was dashed when two pairs of feet appeared in front of her, and balls were bounced – hard – off her back. She cried out in pain before the feet vanished, and Jane's appeared in their place with a roar of "GET OUT OF IT!".

"Up you get, amiga, we're pulling out of here."

"It's… fine…" she hissed through gritted teeth. "Who needs a spinal column?"

"If you're interested in the dodgeball war, Andrea and Brittany are squaring off."

"Fifty-fifty odds."

* * *

Break time: the school grounds were commandeered by the Fashion Club and a gaggle of other popular girls. Sandi sat at the head of their circle, Tori Jericho next to her with a stack of spreadsheets.

"This is, like, the biggest crisis we've _ever_ faced since some jerk claimed _flares_ were back in fashion and people believed him – _Sta_cy, quiet please." Sandi pressed her fingers together in a way she thought made her look cunning. "Every – single – jock is in crisis. They all have to, y'know, _study_ now, and some will be off teams, and some teams may close and _all this affects their suitability as dates_."

She nodded at Tori, and the blonde started handing her sheets around. "This is the _current_ popularity rankings for them all, and I've marked in red the ones that we _know_ are doomed. The _entire track team_, for example."

"We need to decide who's going to replace them and who can be salvaged, and then start to divide them up, because a dating war will just weaken us and then _less popular _girls might get the new popular guys first." Sandi slammed a fist into the ground. "We can't let that happen! We need to, like, be united and stuff!"

"Shouldn't the cheerleaders be here?" asked Winona.

"Oh _puh_-lease. When the football team goes, _they _go."

"Ummm…" Stacy raised a nervous hand. "N-Not to interrupt or anything, Sandi, but if all the cheerleaders and the girls who play sports and the girls who date jocks are losing popularity… _who are _the popular people who aren't us?"

"_Sta_cy, that's _such_ a stupid-" said Sandi instinctively, before her face fell. "Oh dear. _We'll have social climbers_. Tori-"

"I'll get out my laptop now and check all potential threats!"

* * *

Upchuck sauntered up to the tent city, right in the DMZ between journo's and protestors, a large cart pushed before him. He was always one for a business venture, and once he'd located _this _one he'd sprung into action.

He whipped the cart open. "Who wants to buy _donuts and beer?_"

"ME! MEMEMEMEME!"

* * *

Daria had been "accidentally" bumped into twenty-three times so far, five of them hard enough to knock her to the floor; violent threats had been daubed on her locker; and everywhere she went, at least one person was glaring and making dark threats. It was all what she'd expected, which didn't make it any less of a pain in the goddamn ass.

And she was also expecting that it wouldn't be safe to go to the toilet on her own. Luckily, Jane expected that too, saving her from the embarrassment of having to ask for a bodyguard.

There was one of the hockey team there at the time – she looked like she wanted to start something, but with Jane around she decided to go for Plan B, calling Daria a very rude word before leaving.

"So according to this graffiti, I'm a slut and will, quote, get it Crips style, unquote," said Daria from inside a stall. "Is that better or worse than getting in Bloods style?"

"Did they actually spell 'get it Crips style' properly?" asked Jane.

"They misspelled 'it'. That's impressive, in its way."

As Daria flushed, she heard the bathroom door open – three people coming in. She made sure she had her expressionless mask on, then opened the stall door; a brief glance, identifying the girl from earlier, another one, and Siobhan from the track team, Jane watching them with her arms folded. Daria made sure to be brief and to walk past them to wash her hands.

"I'm sorry, but the queue was pointless: that toilet is just as grim as the others," she said, moving on to dry her hands.

"Brave little bitch," spat Siobhan. "You think Insane Lane will be enough to help you here?"

"No need, I think I have the hang of bathroom hygiene." Daria thumped the broken hand-dryer, sighed as that failed to fix it, and went back to the stall to get some paper to dry with. "Or was that a veiled threat? You could stand to be clearer with that."

"I need an athletic scholarship to afford my first-choice college," she hissed. "Way _you've_ made things go, they'll be cancelling it any day now, and then that's me _fucked_. I'll have to go to goddamn _Lawndale State._ You have _no idea _how much the seniors have it in for you-"

"That is terrible. You're right to be angry. Goddamn Lawndale High, being so corrupt that any leak causes dozens to suffer. You should go tell Li and Morris exactly how much they've hurt you. In related news, I had my conscience removed on medical grounds, so a guilt trip won't work."

Siobhan smiled, coldly. "This is going to be the right place for you, with all the other _shit_. Girls-"

Daria held out a hand, just as the enemy and Jane were about to make their moves. "Wait, I have a better idea. You let me out of here unscathed, and I won't get my family and all their friends to go to the cinema _every time you're working shift there._"

There was a brief pause, before Siobhan said, "This isn't over" and left; the other two, rattled, followed her rather than risk greater odds against Jane. Daria waited a few seconds and then started to shake.

"I was worried for a second there that she'd switched jobs," she said. "Then I'd have been in a pickle."

"You okay?"

"Sure, Jane. Sure."

* * *

The Maleficent Eleven had been doing a conga-line in front of the news cameras, chanting "SPIRAL ROCKS! SPIRAL ROCKS! SPIRAL ROCKS!", when something newsworthy finally happened: Superintendent Cartwright arrived at the school. He was besieged and security had to escort him through the throngs, "NO COMMENT!" yelled at the top of his voice.

Then another car pulled up, and the suited figure of Jim Vitale – senior legal partner, feared negotiator, horrible bastard – pulled up. Smiling.

"Well, hello there!" he called out to the press. "Just the one comment to make, fellas: this is all blown out of proportion and we'll have it sorted out by Wednesday at the most. But hey, slow news week, I know how it is."

The Eleven scowled as he passed. They had no idea who he was, but they did know he _wore a suit._

* * *

"This is—this is-" Cartwright fumbled around for the right word. "This is _sucks!_"

Vitale leaned back in Li's office chair (Cartwright had got the visitor's chair, Li had to stand). "Accurate, if not grammatically."

"_Everything_ is leaking about this place, _EVERYTHING! _And people are sniffing around Oakwood now!" Cartwright wheeled around to Li. "YOU MESSED UP GOOD, ANGELA."

She said something that sounded like "mmmppp".

"What we need to do," said Vitale lightly, "is try _harder_ at shutting down the whistleblowers. I can handle that personally. They'll want to have a lawyer present, but in my experience it's easy to get around that if you just _keep going_. It won't be hard to find material on these two girls, that teacher, and Mr Sherman that will make them, aha, play ball – oh stop _wincing_, Stanley. Keep grinning, Angela, it's quite a turn-on."

"Just one thing, Mr Vitale," said Li, a human Cheshire cat; "your firm did try this before…"

"But that wasn't _me _doing it." He took a rubber ball from his suit pocket and began to idly bounce it. "You're running with the big boys now. Now call in that Jane girl first, and we'll see how fast she cracks on her own when any assistance is 'going to be contacted soon'…"

* * *

Art was a class full of paper and paint: great fodder for spitballs and things to flick at you. Every time Ms Defoe's back was turned, Daria's head got pelted. She was getting sick of this. At least it couldn't get-

"Jane Lane to Principal's Office – repeat, Jane Lane to Principal's Office."

Jane looked at Daria, and vice versa; the artist shrugged and began to head out. Daria went for her mobile and started to text her mother.

'As you thought they've called Jane in.'

A few seconds later: 'haha fking called it heding 2 skool now'.

* * *

When Jane entered Li's office, she took one look at the crowd and asked: "So is this bribes or threats this time?"

"Nothing like that at _all_," said Cartwright, only to be interrupted by Vitale saying "it's threats".

"Awww, I like the bribes. They made me feel special."

Vitale began to idly bounce his stress ball with one hand, going through some papers with the other. "Your record is a fun read, Janey. There was that suspension – overturned, yes, but still there – and there are these multiple citations of disruptive and delinquent behaviour, and that time you vanished from a school trip to join in potentially criminal behaviour… oh, and look at this report from the school therapist! And the additions after those paintings you did for the state art competition! Dear me."

"I'm sorry, sir, I stopped paying attention after 'your'."

"Cute." He flashed her a grin. "Let's just say that your record is not very nice. And now we can add in your recent stunt – helping spreads lies about the faculty, tsk tsk. You physically assaulted some girls in Gym as well."

Jane looked stunned for a second and then smiled, bitterly. "Oh, so Morris _was _paying attention to Daria getting attacked. Sort of."

"She only noticed at that exact moment and you have no proof otherwise. But Stan and Angela here have a lot of proof against _you_." Bounce, bounce, bounce. "Now what does that say to me? That says to me that if _I_ was principal, I should expel your ass because you're clearly a disruptive, corrosive element to my fine school and I can point to many, _many_examples of evidence. Add it all up and phrase it properly, and no court would stand against it."

Jane was quiet for a few seconds, so Vitale began to bounce the ball harder and said "Well, come on, Janey, you're thinking something, aren't you? Let's hear it, Janey. Tick tock, time's ticking away-"

"So I'll go to another school! Big whoop!"

"Hmmm. Stan, is Oakwood going to take Janey, you think?"

"It would seem unlikely," said Superintendent Cartwright.

"Hmmm. She may have to find a school somewhere else then. Oh wait. How easy is it to get to another school, Janey? They're not in walking distance. You'd need a lift from, oh… a parent?" He grinned as her face froze. "Don't be like _that_, Janey, I'm sure they'll be willing to help, unless they're rarely around and clearly negligent, in which case that will come out when the authorities check why you can't go to the other schools and _then…_"

"You need a moustache to twirl," she whispered, looking down.

"And you'd started off so strongly! Oh my. But I'm sure things won't _have _to come to this, Janey."

"You can't do this."

"I'm a lawyer. The law is what _we_ make of it. Did you and your friend _honestly_ believe you could cross the system and not face consequences?" He smiled, warmly this time. "Oh. I see now. It was your friend who did this without asking you first. Dear me. Did _she_ not think about the consequences _you _might have? Hardly much of a friend."

Jane continued to look down.

"We can come to a deal here, Janey. Angela and Stan are willing to make a deal." Bounce, bounce, bounce. "It'll be a verbal contract, keep things clearer for you. All you'll need to do is-"

The office door slammed open and Hellion Wheels filled the space, all leather and hair and briefcase and a grin like a psychotic shark.

"Wotcha, motherfuckers! Helen Morgendorffer, attorney at law, Jane Lane's legal representative as appointed by her legal guardian!"

Cartwright and Li had jumped, but Vitale had just stopped bouncing his ball. "And which forged parental signature is that, Helen?"

"Parents? Who said shit about parents?" The briefcase smashed onto Li's desk, was snapped open, and a sheet of paper whisked from it. "Her de facto legal guardian is _Trent_ Lane, as proven by his familial connections and this steady income that covers living expenses, and _this _is his signature as proof of my standing here." She flipped off Vitale. "Haw, HAW."

"Very theatrical."

She picked up Jane, said "I'll need a moment in private to confer with my client", and they both marched out of the room. A minute later, they marched back in, Helen yelling "YOU DIRTY BASTARD".

Vitale waved.

"Well for a _start_, I'm going to be writing up an official complaint about your conduct and sending it off in the hope of getting you disbarred-"

"It can join the queue of such attempts, and I'm afraid there's no proof I said the things your client _believes_I said."

"That's good, because _wow_ what a load of bollocks it was!" Helen folded her arms. "Give me two minutes and I can counter _every_ quote example unquote you have of her healthy, questioning – I'm sorry, _disruptive _behaviour."

"But not the libel case."

"Corroboration from Tommy Sherman and Kevin Thompson."

"The former has a known grudge and is an unreliable source, and will be retracting his statement _very _shortly or being sued for libel, depending on his, aha, intelligence. Kevin was making a joke because he's an asshat."

Helen paused. "Okay, the courts will buy that one, I'll admit. Mr Sherman, on the other hand…" She grinned. "Well, let's just say any deal you make with him will have _me _advising him."

"I see." He stopped bouncing his ball. "Shall we go for closed room negotiations and discussion?"

"Done."

"That means the rest of you leave."

"But… it's _my _office," said Li. "I need it for work."

"Greater need, Angela."

* * *

Jane staggered back into Art class to find Daria with paper-sodden hair and Les clutching his foot in pain.

"His foot slipped under my foot," Daria was telling Ms Defoe.

"MY MIDDLE TOE! _MY MIDDLE TOE!_"

"I apologise for ruining your games of This Little Piggy."

* * *

Daria let the rest of the class go before her, hoping to miss most of the corridor traffic. Instead, she found Les and another boy with Mack outside, Mack giving them quiet, annoyed words. They glared at her before leaving.

"Thanks for the assist."

"Don't." Mack sounded _angry._ "I'll stop them beating you up in the school, but that's _all_you're getting from me."

"I don't underst-"

"Of _course_ you don't! You don't _care_ about anyone except yourself, how could you know what you've done? Jesus Christ, Daria, _no one_ in a sports club is coming out of this unscathed, jobs and colleges will assume we _all_ had byes! Scholarships are out the window!" He started to laugh at the sight of her face. "Oh, what, you thought I'd be _supportive _of you hurting me and my friends?"

"Clearly a flawed hypothesis," she whispered. "New evidence points to another conclusion. I'm sorry, Mack, I didn't mean to do this to everyone."

"You should have _thought_-"

"But I _did _mean to do it to every single member of the fucking track team and Ms Morris with them."

He stared at her, aghast. "You- I figured Morris, but those guys-"

"Those guys and gals _all _tried to strong-arm my friend. Now they suffer. All of them."

Mack looked sick. "You're worse than your sister, you know that?"

Daria _smiled_.

* * *

"IIIII thiiiiiink we were suppossssed to gooooo to claaaasssss—"

"Yes, Tiffany dear, but there's more _important _matters at hand."

The popular girls murmured their agreement.

"I'm going to restate this, I know you all disagree, but you need to face facts," said Winona. "The Glee Club _will _move up in the popularity vacuum."

"Oh not this ag-"

"Drama's semi-popular if you're _hot_, damn it! Music is going to be the same! And some of the Glee Club girls are okayish, if they paid more attention to Waif they could be acceptable!"

"I don't believe her, but I don't think we should take the chance," said Tori grimly. "I suggest we start some rumours about everyone in Glee Club – boys too, just to be certain – and spread them around by fifth period at the latest."

"We'll say they're frigid," said Sandi. "_That'll _keep the guys out."

"Except the born-again guys."

"I'm speaking _genuinely_!"

"Generally," said Stacy without thinking, before screaming "I'M JUST GUESSING!".

* * *

En route to Geography, Angel 'bumped into' Daria and muttered: "Killer wants to know if-"

"No, tell her I still want her in reserve. It's like nuclear weapons: if you used them _all _the time, everyone would go 'oh, it's a nuclear weapon, how last season'."

"Our intelligence says someone spilt water all over your seat in Geography, so you have to get your skirt wet and everyone can claim you pissed yourself."

"Intelligence?"

"Andrea texted us from your class."

"Ah." Daria thought for a second.

Daria walked into Geography class carrying the Lawndale Lions banner that hung over the school's trophy cabinet. Casually, she folded it up and put it on her chair as a water-insulated cushion, and sat down right onto the Lion's face.

"SHE'S GONE TOO FAR!" yelled Kevin, rising to his feet.

"If someone hadn't got my seat wet, I wouldn't need to do this. So it's their fault."

Kevin thought that through, then punched another student yelling "YOU SUCK MAN!".

* * *

Vitale had _loosened his tie_. "DeMartino, let's face it, has so much obvious hate for Li that _any _comment he make will be suspect-"

Helen downed another cup of gin (she'd raided Li's private stash). "_Justified anger_, I think you'll find, as a direct result of the very conditions he's blowing the whistle on-"

"And we'll lodge a complaint that you're representing so many clients at once and that we feel you're using them to support your own, biased defence of your daughter-"

"And _I'll _ask the county to investigate this matter of you threatening to use Social Services on Ms Lane-"

"You already did that threat."

"But it's such a _good _one."

Both lawyers stared each other down, willing (desperately)the other to be the one that suggested a bathroom break _first_.

* * *

Daria made sure to leave Geography _first_, Jane following behind, hoping to reach the cafeteria and then withdraw from it before too many jocks were there. A few guys were there and, to her surprise, the Fashion Club and some of their affiliates were also there early, talking loudly:

"Of course, _I _do not take seriously these RUMOURS that-" Sandi checked her notes. "LINDA CAPELLO STRINGS BOYS ALONG BUT NEVER GIVES IT UP."

"I have not heard those rumours!" said Tori in unconvincing tones. "Can you better explain it to me in lengthy detail?"

"I'll be giving a lengthy puke if they keep this up," said Daria.

"Well it _is _Mystery Meat today," said Jane.

Daria reached the lunch lady, collected her food, counted down a few seconds and listened out, and then quickly sidestepped so one of the basketball players charged _past_her, 'accidentally' bumping Corey Bateman's tray onto the floor instead. Corey looked at him reproachfully. And then punched him.

Normally, a security guard would break up any such conflict, but as they were all still outside, the fight took both of them careening into a table, sending food and plates everywhere and causing a mob of girls to turn on them. Jane smiled a proud smile at Daria, who looked a little confused.

"I honestly didn't expect that to happen."

"We better move off to a safe zone before you get the blame, you wing-flapping butterfly, you."

* * *

Ms Li and Superintendent Cartwright sat in Ms Morris' office, Ms Morris standing. They'd been sitting (and standing) for a while now, wondering when Vitale was going to be done with the office. Li had taken a laptop with her and was scanning Internet & wi-fi access across the school, using a program Cartwright _could not see honest_.

"Word keeps getting out," she muttered. "People are going to blogs, news sites, email, _Twitter, ORLY OWLS- _The longer this carries on..." She frowned. "Wait, someone just updated the Lawndale Lowdown website. LANDON WOULDN'T..."

A few hours earlier:

Jodie had spent a good few hours watching the zoo outside, overhearing jocks moaning their arses off about how "unfair" things were, watching Li completely fail to handle things, and Sandi's cabal discussing how to carve up people. In principle, she was utterly opposed to what Daria had done: Li was a tyrant but needed for order, as this collapse showed. A weakness in the regime was causing chaos and destruction.

In practice, JESUS WEPT a lot of people were arseholes. Really big ones. With irritable bowel syndrome. And the bowels were in people's mouths and oh god she'd made herself feel ill.

So in between periods, she'd given up and said to some of the more reliable Lowdown contributors: "I think we should report on what's happening now."

"_You _think that?" said Jenna without thinking, before "er, and I mean-"

"We're a school newspaper, this is school news, and I'm sure we're capable of being objective. What do you say?"

They said "yes", and thought "ha ha up yours Principal Li!".

By the start of lunch, Breaking News updates were all over the Lowdown website, covering the growing pro-bye protestors (and how Li had been seen slipping them some better signs), the lawyers, whinging football players, the lunch violence, and the popular girls trying to spread rumours.

The Glee Club was _very _interested in that last one.

"But I'm sure Sandi _doesn't _have herpes really," said Linda Capello as she walked past the largest crowd of boys she could find.

Within ten minutes, both sides were reported to be STD-riddled, abortion happy, utterly frigid communists.

Within fifteen minutes, every news website and blog covering Lawndale was repeating the Lowdown's reports as "Exclusive" and "from our sources". This, sadly, included a spoof article that school funds had been spent on a ground-to-air missile system called the Fast Air-Responding Tactical System.

* * *

"Landon has betrayed us!" screamed Li, helping herself to gummi bears from Morris' desk (she _really_missed her gin). "Give me FIVE SECONDS and I'll have the Lowdown NUKED off our servers!"

Cartwright frowned. "That may be too-" Then he saw a headline mentioning rumours that he was approving the strong-arming of students. "NUKE NUKE _NUKE!_"

Li nuked – and, in her haste, managed to delete the entire Lawndale High website.

A minute later, live reports claimed that Lawndale High was attempting to ban the Internet on school grounds. A minute after _that_, someone on a message board had created a meme with a V For Vendetta mask superimposed on a Catholic schoolgirl, entitled "Studonymous" and talking about "banning school on Internet grounds" (it made sense to the guy at the time).

* * *

"Well, we lasted as long as could be expected," said Jodie.

"Li hasn't shut the _printers _off," said Jenna.

"So she hasn't."

* * *

"One dollar per Lowdown!" called out Upchuck, waving copies of the free paper in front of hungry journalists.

* * *

On the roof, Daria finished her meal and looked up at the news helicopter circling the school. "I wonder what they think they'll see?"

"At the moment, us," said Jane. She thought about this, then waved at the chopper.

"Don't respond, it just encourages them."

* * *

Li was getting the two-pronged strike of becoming sober _and_ coming down from a caffeine rush. She was trying to pour whole sugar packets down her throat to compensate, but the sense of everything slipping from her – and only being able to cover _six_cameras at once from the laptop – was too much for a more sugar rush to overcome. And Vitale was taking too long.

Cartwright was on the phone, screaming "do _anything _to prevent leaks from Oakwood, ANYTHING!", and looking like he wanted to cry.

Li checked the roof camera feeds. _Morgendorffer and Lane _were there, removed from any chaos they'd caused. So far they'd proven untouchable. On the other hand, there...

"Mr Cartwright, I have a plan but it's... not quite legal-"

"Oh dear I need to use the bathroom!"

She watched him go, then turned to Morris: "I need you to pass some word on."

* * *

"Lawndale High is in _really _bad shape, Mr Vitale-"

"-which is why we're advising full-on lawsuits and threats. Let's face it, _we _do well out of long, costly negotiations, don't we?"

Helen began to chuckle. "Well, Mr Vitale. Your... _reputation _may not do so well."

"Ooooh, we might lose a difficult case, that's certainly never happened to us before. As long as we mitigate the loss, and frankly that's not hard here-"

"Mr Vitale, Jim, Jimbo... You're a big cabal of bastard cunts, with you being the bastardiest cunt of them all, and _I'm_ a self-employed lawyer who has never had a 'big' client. A long, costly negotiation that doesn't end in a crushing victory, _against me?_" She smashed her fist onto the desk in front of him. "You'll look like ONE SORRY FUCKER, Jimmy-Jim-Jim! Fucking Superman does _not _get kneecapped by that fucking dog with the cape, what was it called, Wonder Mutt?"

"_I _don't know!"

"_Anyway!_" She grinned the widest grin she'd yet done. "I DON'T think it's in your firm's best interests if you go up against me in court and it drags on and you get a conditional win, AND WE BOTH KNOW IT'LL DRAG ON. When it comes to fighting the Man, I _am _an Anti-Christ, and YOU'RE the Maniest Man who ever... MANNED!"

Vitale was quiet for a few seconds, and then said, "That was a highly articulate and well thought-out outburst, Helen. Apologies, in writing, from Lawndale High to Daria Morgendorffer, Jane Lane, and Anthony DeMartino in return for waiving the suits?"

"Apologies and some money."

"$200 each."

"Oh, big spenders," she sneered. "Done. And be glad they're both lazy girls and will be happy to end things quickly."

"So you say. We'll discuss Mr Sherman another time. Oh, and entirely off the record?"

"Go ahead."

"Your passion is _extremely _attractive, Helen. If you're not doing anything tonight-"

She headbutted him, right in the teeth.

"HAHA OFF THE RECORD BITCH, I'M UNTOUCHABLE!"

_It was worth a try OW OW OW_he thought.

* * *

"The pro-byes protestors are singing the national anthem – but don't know half the words," reported Jane.

"Good for them."

The roof door slammed open. Daria recognised Les, Chipmunk, Evan, Jennifer; four of the Lions, including a rather tense Joey; whatsisname from the canteen and some friends; two volleyball players. A sizeable crowd. Angry. Between her and the door.

She slipped her hands into her jacket pockets and stood straight, forcing her face to be neutral. "I swear, I gave at the office."

"Funny," spat Evan. "You're always such a _funny _bitch, aren't you."

"Come to this, has it Evan?" asked Jane, her voice flat. "I thought better of you."

"Oh great, more holier-than-thou crap. Well you two-"

"How's things back there, Joey?" called out Daria.

He didn't respond, looked instead to the others, looking reassurance.

"I don't see the other two J's. Why is that?"

Siobhan stepped forward, _smiling_. "You don't think your fancy words are going to help _now_do you?"

"Why break the habit of a lifetime?" She kept looking at Joey. "Come on, Joey. While you're part of a crowd, it may seem like everything will be okay, but once you're on your own, when you go back to Jeffy and Jerome, and they _weren't _there? Mack or Kevin either. Or when you're on your own."

Joey was looking more and more nervous, and one of the volleyball players was starting to sweat too. Joey glanced towards the door, then at the other Lions; he froze in the face of their glares.

"Oh let's just _shut her up_," said Evan.

"Before you do," said Daria, taking her hand – and her phone – out of her pocket, "did you know I have my sister on speed dial? Joey, make or break."

Joey left. One of the other Lions rolled his eyes and went to shut the door, saying "you really think those freaks will get here in ti-"

He had to stop talking on account of Andrea's fist.

"I didn't, no, but isn't it nice to be surprised," said Daria.

The Maleficent Eleven piled onto the roof, Quinn at the front with the biggest and meanest flanking her, eleven sets of knuckles cracking. One of the volleyball players quietly peed herself.

"Slutty Girl, Koichi, square escort duty!" yelled Quinn. "Everyone _else_ – **HEY HO LET'S GO!**"

Evan began to speak, marking him out as the leader; Quinn leapt forward and delivered the _mother of all headbutts_. The roof erupted into a free-for-all, while 'Slutty Girl' Jackie and Koichi delivered a groin-kick-face-punch combo on Siobhan and then began to haul Daria & Jane away. Daria glimpsed a Lion thumping Andrea and taking blows to the gut; Dave throwing someone _through _the roof hut; Shane down in seconds crying in pain; Shaggy and Burnout back to back, lashing out at anyone near; Angel taking a blow to the face, dropping, and then elbow-striking knees; Spike being football tackled but dragging a screaming basketball player by the crotch with him; Scarlett throwing her trenchcoat over a girl's head and then whacking the blinded opponent.

Before Koichi and Jackie shoved Daria through the door, she saw Quinn punching Evan with his own fists, yelling "STOP HITTING YOURSELF! STOP HITTING YOURSELF!".

"Can't believe I saw anything in him!" said Jane as they fled down the stairs. "He fights _worse_than a girl!"

The two exited the stairs – right in front of the hockey player that had worked with Siobhan earlier. Armed.

"Hi. I'm the _insurance policy_."

In the background, Stacy and Tiffany had just wandered in; both were frozen, confused. The player growled "beat it!" at them. Stacy shut her eyes, stiffened, and barked out "leave it out, sunshine, we run a _clean_club round here!". Then, in a totally different tone of voice, "This is the most unacceptable behaviour, if you continue this I'll be forced to-"

She swung her hockey stick, just to scare Stacy off, and was _really_surprised when Stacy grabbed it, high-kicked her hand to force it open, headbutted her, and then delivered an elbow blow to the back with a clean sweep to the feet once she was bent over.

"_Even in this hell, there is justice,_" hissed Stacy, before turning to Daria and thrusting up a rock-out symbol: "YEEEAAAAHHHH! FIGHT THE MAN EH?"

"...thanks, Stacy."

The outcasts headed off, leaving an enemy unconscious and Tiffany scratching her head. "Whaaaat juuuust happeneddd?"

"I don't know," whimpered Stacy.

* * *

Joey _skidded_ to a halt in the cafeteria, crying out to his friends: "There's a fight going on up on the roof and they were going to try and do in that weird girl and I didn't think we should and _what should I do?_"

Jeffy and Jamie blinked. "Could you repeat the..." "...all parts?"

"Some people ganged up on a girl?" It was Robert, one of the biggest players in the Lions. "I can't be holding with that! I'm heading up there!"

"It's the fight with Killer Quinn, you can't miss it!"

Jamie began thinking with his penis. "I have to help Quinn!"

"I... guess we have to help Jamie and Robert then?" said Jeffy, confused.

"Guess so! I'll show you all the way!"

Unnoticed by them all, Bob the punk rose up from his table. He never misbehaved on school grounds, but _this_was one of the unwritten exceptions. (Actually, it was written. He'd written it, in biro, in the back of his English book.)

Also unnoticed was Tom, rising with a look of black murder on his face.

* * *

The fight spilled down the stairs. Les saw the fallen hockey player, grabbed the stick. Andrea saw the fallen hockey player, grabbed the _player_.

"That's CHEATING!" protested Les before he got a head upside his head.

* * *

"There's a fight breaking out and Quinn's freaks are whaling on our guys!" cried out someone.

As one, every hockey player, basketball player, and soccer player- all genders and years – got up and armed themselves with sticks, chairs, and leftover food.

* * *

"Look! The jocks are getting hit!" said one Chess Club member to another.

"THE UPRISING HAS BEGUN! _PAWNS TAKE KNIGHTS!_"

* * *

"Hey guys, there's a _fight _going on!" yelled Kevin to every male in earshot.

"Who's fighting who?"

"...I dunno, but it's a _fight_, bro's!"

They all cheered and got up, and half of them began to hit each other, reasoning that they might as well get stuck in where they were.

* * *

Daria and Jane entered Maths class, reasoning nobody involved would be coming _there_.

Mr Ewing woke up, startled. "Are you... are you... _you want to learn Maths outside of class?_" He wept tears of joy.

"I... didn't catch that," said Jane, who'd mentally ignored his boring voice.

"Never mind."

"Huh?"

* * *

The front door to Lawndale High burst open as fighting pairs tore through it, knocking aside the smaller security guards and carrying on into the grounds.

A battered Quinn put down one guy but was cornered by a new one; Jamie leapt in, yelling "I'll save you Q-" before getting knocked out by one punch, but that distracted the other jock and stopped him seeing Bob, who punched the guy in his Little Jock.

Evan, still beaten and bloody, had emerged, now with a chair in his hands, and he saw Quinn trying to get her breath back. He moved in, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," said Tom, before flooring him. "DAMN IT I HURT MY FIST ON YOUR FACE ASSHOLE!"

Following was Robert, pulling someone off Scarlett and body slamming them; a basketball player with three nerds latched on, feebly hitting him with lunch trays; an unconscious Spike being used as a battering ram by the girl's hockey team; Kevin trading punches with another guy, both going "WOOOOOOO!".

The journalists looked at this for a second, and then one began to yell into a microphone: "No, you are seeing this, that girl just headbutted three people in quick succession – and, and yes, that Goth is being tag-teamed with sticks, clearly not a fair fight – and MY GOD! The junior Sloane is attempting a Ram Jam from the top of the steps! THIS MATCH IS OUT OF CONTROL!"

Upchuck immediately appeared, yelling "Mouth guards, crotch guards! Buy your protection here! Buy one, get the other half price!"

As Quinn and Bob picked up and hurled a soccer player into the pro-bye protestors and Mr Thompson reverted to his mental glory days and ran forward grinning "FIIIIIIGHT!", Jim Vitale exited the school to his car. He sighed and took out his phone.

"It's me. That contract with the school district – how easy is it for us to raise our fees again? _Excellent._

* * *

"Um... should we be doing something?" asked a security guard.

"We've got no orders," said Steve, drinking a brewski. "Ten on Quinn against Miguel."

Their radios screamed in Ms Li's voice, and Steve groaned. "Okay, okay. Full gear, everyone, including the riot shields." When everyone blinked, he said: "Y'know, the dustbin lids. On the plus side TEAR GAS!"

* * *

"That's right, I can see guards are now taking action against all comers," said Jodie, reporting via mobile phone to Z93. "They're using tear gas – I'm not entirely sure they're allowed that..."

Next to hear, Helen Morgendorffer was filming the scene with her camera phone and eating some snacks. It was _awesome._

* * *

The wind had blown the teargas onto the road, grinding traffic to a halt. The security guards were pushing around the teacher's cars in order to clear a secure space around the school entrance. A goggle-eyed vigilante in a paintball mask was running around, firing a paintball gun at anyone who tried to kick someone who was already down. A full half of the jocks and their parents were down, along with most of the Maleficent Eleven, but everyone who _was_still up had long since forgotten what side they were on and had gone with Against Everyone.

Li and Cartwright looked like a time-travelling Goering and Hitler who'd arrived in 2011 Berlin during a Gay Jewish Pride parade.

"Mblblblblblb," said Li.

"Hello Mr President of the Board," whispered Cartwright into his phone. "Yes, it is bad, Mr President. I agree, Mr President, someone needs to be fired over th- Oh. I'd like to talk to our lawyers- oh, they recommended... Thank you, Mr President. Goodbye, Mr President."

"Mblblblblbl."

* * *

The police had arrived and, on general principle, were hitting everyone. That seemed to have stopped the fight, so Daria and Jane felt it safe to come out. They could tell the police were confused about who to arrest and how they could arrest this many people, to the extent the lead officer was saying "well they do go to a high school, that's kinda like a prison already, right?".

Quinn staggered over to them, a shell-shocked Tom hanging onto her. "Did I really do all that?"

Quinn patted him. "Yep. You're alright, Richie Rich!"

"And this is why I don't get involved in things," whispered Daria, the eyes of a pioneering Internet programmer who'd realised they were partially responsible for 4chan. "I do a few small things and..."

"I was wrong, sis. You really _are_ a punk. You could become _the second-greatest punk of all time_."

"Can't. I bathe regularly." She bit her lip. "Um, thanks for-"

"Family is family, Daria. And fights are fights! ROCK!" Quinn let Tom go and headed off to find out who in the gang was still conscious.

Daria couldn't look at Tom without blushing. "You... um..."

"Yeah, I'm amazed too."

She bent in and kissed him.

They'd have kissed for longer if the teachers hadn't appeared at the front of the school, O'Neill calling for attention: "Um, hello! Everyone! Can you all hear me okay at the back? Okay... It is my sad duty to have to inform you all that, ah, due to... personal reasons, we'll have to say goodbye to Coach Gibson, Ms Morris, and Principal Li-"

"SHE'S **GONE FOREVER!**" roared DeMartino before doing an air guitar. "**DUN** DANNA-**DUN** DANNA-DUN **DANANANAAA!**" He grabbed Ms Barch and started to dance. "**DUN** DANNA-**DUN** DANNA-DUN **DANANANAAA!**"

The crowd stared, trying to take the message in. And then Dawn Harris, always a mute and unconcerned figure hooked constantly to her iPod, opened up her backpack – and she took out a boombox and she raised it high.

And what happened next will blow your mind.

* * *

Over a hundred people had left work early to join in the street party; they remembered Li from their own schooldays and wanted to see her out. Music of all genres thundered out from boomboxes – Dawn had hit the Turbo Bass on hers – and someone had set up a barbeque grill. Upchuck was selling commemorative plates, and Ms Defoe had quickly made an effigy of Li, which was being set on fire.

Kevin and Brittany were dancing, one of two dozen couples cutting a rug – including Quinn and Jamie, who looked like he was living the dream. Daria and Tom had been one before Daria had gotten too embarrassed to continue. (Stacy had changed into her Stacy the Nerd guise and was dancing with Jeffy, who hadn't cottoned on to the fact that this contradicted her "I'm from Oakwood" cover story) Steve and the head police officer were happily sharing a joint with Shaggy.

"I distinctively remember all the jocks and their parents being worried about Li leaving," said Jane.

"Yeah, but as students, they all still wished Li would go," said Tom. "Humans are a contradictory lot."

"Also, after all _this_, the school's going to be shut for a few days while the district tries to sort everything out," said Daria. "And who doesn't want to celebrate that?"

"And everybody's temporarily forgotten they hate you!" beamed Jane. "Maybe when we all come back to school-"

"Yes, and maybe they'll club together to buy me a pony." Daria looked over the scene, as several of the teachers sang Glad It's All Over. "Doing all this _scares_ me. I used to disengage because I didn't think I could change much and I didn't want the hassle of failure, but... if I can't _control_the change, then... Eh, I dunno. I may just be a wuss. Not very punk of me."

"Ah don't second guess yourself!" said Jane cheerily, putting a matey hand on Daria's shoulder. "You did a man's job, Dekker. And for all your talk about disengaging, you do keep getting involved..."

"Against my will."

"Never the less."

"And if it makes you feel any better, we can say you're not a punk," said Tom. "No, you're Punk Version 2.0. You're Punk 2011 Edition. You're Punk II: Punkment Day."

"Thank god you didn't say Electric Punkaloo." She could see someone selling ice creams now. "Y'know, I think my work here is done. Let's say we go get pizza."

The trio headed off, leaving the party behind. The last thing they heard was a BBC reporter intoning "and there's a strong feeling of community here, of reaching the end of a long, dark tunnel, and standing blinking in the light – and, and yes, I believe I can see the school's Spanish teacher doing the Bartman..."

THE END

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a turning point in the series – another one, that is. Things weren't intended to end up like this but once I decided "Daria blabs on the grade-fixing after all", it just snowballed from there. Poor Mack wasn't originally going to be turned against Daria by this, but that's just how the scene went.

Jim Vitale is a character created by Scissors McGuillty for Where's Mary Sue When You Need Her, and became a shared character who can appear in any fanfic. And because he's such a horrible bastard, he's appeared in a LOT. ("Law is what we lawyers make of it" and his favoured term "asshat" come from that fic, as does his lust for Helen) Subversion is We was a website from the Daria fics The Look-Alike Series, and I pinched the name because I'm a lazy git.

I may owe Lonely Island royalties for the repeated referencing their songs.


	23. Week Can Be Heroes

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 23: Week Can Be Heroes**

School was effectively shut down for a whole week. Daria had a whole week of pure freedom. She could do anything.

MONDAY:

Finished reading The Great Gatsby. Played Great Gatsby NES game on Internet. Met Jane for pizza.

TUESDAY:

Started reading Anthony Beevor's Stalingrad. Played game of seeing how many references to Eastern Front conditions she could make in front of family ("EWWWW!"). Started writing a new turn-of-last-century Gothic story. Went round Tom's house to watch The Third Man.

WEDNESDAY:

Finished reading Stalingrad. Noted down final score of nineteen references. Decided to kill off half the cast of story in a single chapter of maximum violence. Met Jane _and_Tom for pizza.

THURSDAY:

Slept in. Tried reading Atlas Shrugs again. Gave up again. Grabbed a random JG Ballard book from library instead. Finished story. Watched TV with Jane and Tom at Jane's house. Made out with Tom in randomly chosen room (turned out to be Trent's, who came home). Got embarrassed. Went home.

FRIDAY:

Woke up early due to louder-than-norm music. Fell asleep again. Finished book. Started second draft. Went round Tom's house. Talked with Tom's parents. Left Tom's house to escape questions. Stayed up at night playing Cannibal Holo-Kart game.

SATURDAY:

Finished second draft. Decided not to read a new book and watched TV instead. Scratched self. Met Jane for bad movie night. Met Tom after for date in park, seeing how many couples they could jump out on and scare. Apologised to Quinn for wrecking her make-out session with a bloke she just met.

SUNDAY:

"That's enough excitement for one week," Daria said to herself, staying in bed.

**MEANWHILE, DURING THAT WEEK:**

_The School_

Governor O'Malley was not happy, which mean Lawndale County's Senator McManus wasn't happy, which meant the President of the Lawndale County Board of Education was unhappy, which meant Superintendent Cartwright became _very very unhappy_and simply Cartwright to boot.

Unfortunately, stomping on the people below you until someone somewhere loses their job may be cathartic – except for Cartwright – but means you have to replace them. The President thought this over for most of the weekend and the Monday, until she'd picked:

a) Someone who was competent enough that they could _possibly_ help sort out the mess Li had left behind  
b) Someone she really hated and would like to see suffer

Finding both was a challenge indeed, but new Superintendent Pascal managed both. Of Haitian descent and sporting the most military regulation haircut of all time – he was a proud National Guard private, and intended to be a proud private first-class whoever he had to backstab or nobble – he was known for extreme penny-pushing fiscal conservatism and extreme untrustworthy bastardry. He'd been really happy to get the job, up until he _got_the job.

On Tuesday, Pascal spent a long, patient five hours going through the finances for all the county's schools, especially Lawndale. Mrs Bennett was called in to assist.

"Bennett, please explain this discrepancy." He tapped an immaculate pie chart (he'd done it during lunch break). "This is the amount given to all schools per annum. This blue and yellow segment is Lawndale." He tapped a bar graph. "And _this_ is the amount of money Lawndale was supposed to have allocated for necessary resources, and the other bars are the amount actually _spent_-"

"Wait, sorry sir, your figures have to be wrong. I did the budget for Angela, that's not what-" Her eyes suddenly fixated on the bars for 'Economics'. "_Damn it!_ I wondered why the textbooks were _still_ all from 2006! Whole chapters on sub prime mortgages and the successes of the Irish economy! _Whole chapters!_"

"I see. I did further recon and found this was the sitrep of your school's financial arsenal."

Blank.

"This is what your bank account looks like."

Bennett checked the figure. "That's a decimal point there, isn't it."

"I'm afraid it is."

"Oh my _god._" She looked distraught. "I don't know how this happened. I was sure I… oh. Angela always said she'd handle, ah, security requisitions."

And thus all of Wednesday was spent trawling through the tangled web of contracts, correspondence, more contracts, statements, dummy funds, and scrawled notes to find just how much had been spent. The penny dropped when Pascal got to the order for biometric scanners for the staff toilets. Worse was to come:

"_We can't get out of these contracts_," he said, staring in horror. "We can stop using every security measure tomorrow, but we'd still be paying every company involved for the next _five years_. And…" He read Diane Bennett's scribbled diagram again. "…we're being invaded by Canada?"

"No, that's… ah… The school is going to be in the red starting… uh…. Next term. Unless we get more money-"

"We'll think of something else." He made a note to see which subjects he could cut. "Now then… To sum up: Lawndale High is approaching bankruptcy, it's overloaded with finance, half the school have suspect grades, its name is mud… Clearly, priority one is to _find who to blame._"

Bennett raised an eyebrow. "Don't you mean-"

"I know what I mean. And we can't just blame Angela Li, not until we've found out what state she's fled to. No…" He thought this over, while looking at the unwitting teacher who'd been involved in working out budgets and had her name all over budgets. "Sorted!"

Thursday was spent purging Bennett and working out clever little ways to phrase his reports so that as much blame could be shifted onto her and as much mention made possible about how he was cleaning stuff up. This meant it was midday Friday when he realised he needed to pick a _new_principal.

_Li was uncontrollable, we need someone pliant… someone who will take orders… someone easy… someone like…_

On Saturday and Sunday, Principal O'Neill spent all his time trying to work out the first speech he'd give to the school.

* * *

_Erin Chambers_

On Monday, Erin woke up and decided to make a renewed push on getting a job – no more moping about past failures! No more! On she'd push! THE FUTURE!

Tuesday:

"I see you worked for Landon Enter- oh. You're not _that_saleswoman, are you?"

Wednesday:

"This is a very good CV, Ms Chambers, but there's this little issue of… ah… well…."

Thursday:

"Ms Chambers, this is a _family_business, we stand for wholesome Christian values! By the way, I'm free after 6…"

Erin returned home screaming "THIS SUCKS!".

"Mmm, you're _almost_there, dear," said Helen. "But you should work your way up, try starting with 'sucks ass' next time and-"

"Everywhere I go for work now, the thing with Andrew Landon hangs over me! I'm branded! I have… I have a scarlet E! Like that woman from whatsit!" She fell onto the sofa. "I dunno, maybe I need to give up on a sales job entirely. Maybe I need to try something else."

Helen headbutted Erin.

"OW!"

"Sorry, Erin, but it was for your _own good!_ You can't give up on your dream job just because of a few setbacks! _I_ had the same doubts when I started out, getting afraid that I'd never make it, that I'd have to compromise! And it's just a short step from giving up on your dreams to _not_ dying your hair and wearing a _suit!_" Helen looked at her normally dressed niece and winced. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Not really. Hang on…" Erin mentally reran her aunt's rant in her head. "How _did_you succeed on your own, anyway…?"

"Hmmm. Well, to be honest, my first few clients were really desperate-"

"OF COURSE!" roared Erin, leaping off the couch and heading for the paper. "_START UP BUSINESSES!_"

Friday:

Erin was sitting at Yuppie Yums, dressed in her best dress and drinking an expensive drink (actually fizzy water in a fancy glass but the other guy wouldn't know that), when Noah Barkman arrived. Good looking, young, white spiky hair, and wearing a suit that had clearly been bought from a thrift store and originally belonged to an eight-foot-tall Victorian man.

"Ms Chambers! I'm Noah Barkman, President of Buzzdome."

"Charmed-"

"Let me tell you something about Buzzdome, Erin! We're a bleeding edge shop, pumped to optimise our web presence, ready to take the e-dustry by…"

Erin smiled and nodded in all the right places until he stopped.

"Basically, what we're looking for in a sales-app runner is someone who can-"

She started smiling and nodding again, until she registered a question:

"…would you flashmarket that to the waiting channers?"

"Mr Barkman – Noah, sorry – I'm sorry to be rude, but… do half these words mean anything, or are they just random babble to confuse people? Because if it's the _latter_, potential buyers generally prefer to have some idea of what the product actually does-"

Noah's eyes bulged in shock. "_Whoa!_ You're _hired!_"

_Still got it,_thought Erin.

Saturday and Sunday saw Erin, in her spare time, working out how to translate Buzzdome's website into Human.

* * *

_The Fashion Club:_

Monday:

Sandi rang the Sloane's doorbell and was stunned to see Tom answer it: "Ewww. It's like you, like, _live here too _or something."

"ELSIE! IT'S THE THREE WISE MONKEYS!"

Elsie Sloane came to the door, where the rest of the Club were waiting to be let in. She didn't let them in. And kept smiling. (Sandi was a bit worried about that smile, Elsie hadn't smiled like that since Sandi had worn last week's scrunchie by mistake and hadn't realised until lunch…)

"Well, _El_sie? You called the Fashion Club for a special meeting here, and we are _extremely _busy people-"

"IIIIIIII neeeed to doooo my eeeeyeeeelashes agaaaaaiiiin."

"It's about that, Sandi," said the human Cheshire Cat. "As you know, I'm leaving for Fielding at the end of this semester-"

"Yes, you do tend to mention that every hour."

"Well… we're close enough to the end of semester that, basically… I intend to leave this little public school club and focus on _proper_things now."

The Club stared at her.

"B-B-But we need you!" cried Stacy. "If we lose you now, w-we might become _less _popular!"

"_Yes_, with all the christenings going on, this is the _worst _time for you to leave."

Elsie kept smiling. "I know."

Then she shut the door, leaving the Fashion Club outside and in the cold.

"I think this is a metaphor," said Stacy.

"What's that?"

"I DON'T KNOW I'M NOT SMART HONEST."

"We should be fine," said Sandi, trying to hold onto her lunch. "It's a week until school. This gives us, like, a week before everyone realises…"

Tuesday:

"Hey, where's Elsie!" called another girl from across the mall. "HAW HAW!"

"_Damn it._" Sandi would have kicked the wall in a dramatic expression of anger, but she had new shoes. "We have only one, like, option now."

"But we've just _bought _the latest in-style!"

"No, Stacy. _Bring down the competition fast._"

Tuesday night, Pizza King:

"Wow, LINDA CAPELLO got an ABORTION? I did not KNOW THAT!"

Wednesday:

"Bad news!" squeaked Stacy. "Linda's saying _we_ got an abortion too! I DON'T WANT AN ABORTION! _hhhhhhhh-_"

Sandi shook Stacy until she calmed down. It took four minutes.

"Alright. We best think this through. Work out the worst insults we can think of, a list of the biggest threats, and then go. Contact Tori. And then think of some insults for her too."

Don't feel too bad, dear readers, because at that very moment Tori Jericho was spreading rumours that Sandi farted when making out.

Thursday:

By midday, every girl in the top three tiers of the Lawndale High hierarchy was a frigid slut who never gave it up because she had abortions and was also a brain who was stupid and smelt funny. The boys were very confused, except Kevin, who forgot to pay attention.

Sandi called a council of war:

"People have, like, started rumours about _m-_ about _us _too! We have to redouble efforts! We need to… to…. Something's missing. Something…"

"Uhhhhhhh…. Weren't theeerrreeee _three _of uuuusssss befooorrreeee?"

"Where – _where did Stacy go?_"

"GOAL-"

"_NO GOAL!_" yelled Stacy, high-kicking it back at the striker.

"Nice one!" cried Corrin, team leader, punching the air. "Man, Stacy, and you seemed so distracted earlier!"

"Thought I'd forgotten something." She shrugged. "Ain't more important than footie though, is it?"

The team cheered.

"You're _late_," said Quinn when Death Rowe entered the Zon. "And… wait, your knees are all muddy and you've been sweating. _Awesome! _Forget what I said before!"

Friday:

"No way, Sandi!" said Skylar, backing away. "No offence or anything, but you've got, like, frigid aborted herpes and stuff!"

"_Well I'll just find another boy, buster!_" she snarled, not adding that he was the fifth to blow her off so far. (She may have been happier to know Linda Capello, Tori Jericho, and a random Fielding student who was also called Sandy were having the same problem)

Skylar joined some other lads later, down the arcade. They all looked glum.

"Man! All that time we were dating those chicks, they all were really virgin whores with CDs and stuff!" Corey looked glum. "And we never knew!"

"This sucks, dude! Who are we supposed to date _now?_"

At that point, Andrea walked past. The lads thought hard for a second, then shook their heads.

"Okay, we just need to think-" Skylar held up his hands as the other boys cried out in horror. "No, no! This'll be _useful_ thinking, not like English class! Okay, we need to figure out some girls who don't have those rumours, look _at least _cute, aren't a social loser…"

"Maybe one that doesn't want us to keep spending money all the time?"

"Yeah! _But where will we find one?_"

Saturday:

Adorable-faced Cindy Brolsma woke up, donned her trapezoid glasses and her usual mauve shirt, and sat down to watch the new episode of American Idol. Mystik Spiral (omg squee) had a webcast gig on Sunday, but that left Saturday free to just chill, hang out, catch up on some reading for school, and maybe visit a club. Normal, simple day for her, really, in her normal and simple life.

The semi-nerd had no idea what was coming on Monday…

* * *

_Steve_

Monday:

Beer, TV, more beer, porn, sleep.

Tuesday:

Beer, TV, more beer, porn, sleep.

Wednesday:

Beer, TV, more beer, porn, sleep.

Thursday:

Beer, TV, more beer, porn, sleep.

Friday:

"So, wait, Mr O'Neill… You don't want us to do most of the work we had to before… but we _still_ have to turn up and get paid? Okay, just checking." Steve hung up the phone and grinned like a good monk who'd found out Heaven was a giant brothel. _"Cool."_

* * *

_Jake Morgendorffer._

Monday:

"AND I SAY **GAH GAH DAMMITTTTT!**" he roared into the microphone, before smashed it onto the stage.

"Blast!" swore Mr Taylor. "Well that's the country club's monthly karaoke contest borked then!"

"Yes, it is," said Angier Sloane. "I'm _sorry_, I don't know _what _I was thinking inviting him…"

Tuesday:

"…and if you follow _that _plan, I guarantee this shop will be attracting biker's from across three states! Four if you include the Hell's Rabbi's gang on a discount!"

"Errr… Mr Morgendorffer, this is a flower shop."

"I know."

The old lady scratched her chin thoughtfully. "Hmmmm…"

Wednesday:

"HOLY CHRIST! SOMEONE FIREBOMBED MR VITALE'S CAR! AND I THINK THEY CRAPPED ON IT FIRST!"

Jake walked away from the law office, whistling as he went. _Heh heh. That'll put ol' Hellion in a good mood…_

A police officer emerged from the darkness, looking at Jake. Jake looked back at him. The officer looked back at the burning car, then at the name of the law firm.

"I saw nothing," said the copper.

"Cool!"

Thursday:

"Oh yes, I gave _my dad_ my wallet once!" spat Jake at the mugger. "Ooooh, that's a girly purse, son! _Real_ men don't have Alvin and Chipmunk's wallets at age ten! I LOVED THAT WALLET **FUCK YOU DAD ****EAT HEADBUTT!**"

Friday:

"Are you sure this 11 setting on the amp will really work?" Jake asked Max Tyler.

"Hey boss, only one way to find out…"

(Upstairs, Daria woke up with a jolt, as did every neighbour in a five-house radius)

Saturday:

"Whoa. _Five _states," said Jake proudly, as the renamed Bloom Off (Try Our Dandelion Beer!) shop bustled with business.

Sunday:

And on the seventh day he rested.

Until Helen decided she was in the mood, anyway.

* * *

_Loose ends._

Monday night.

Li studied the map, trying to work out where in god's name she was and which way it was to the nearest national border. Goddamn woods. They were like a maze around her.

And that damn song on the car radio didn't help, she _hated _Girls Just Want To Have Fun.

THE END

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Cindy is the name given to a recurring background character, a cute nerd with a mauve shirt and trapezoid glasses; she was often seen at the back of social functions and Spiral gigs. Her name comes from the MTV staffer she was visually based on, according to MTV's old website.

Martin O'Malley is the real governor of Maryland in 2011.

Yes, Li just ran afoul of exactly who you think...


	24. Write in the Nads

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 24: Write in the Nads**

Lawndale High had four vacancies to fill, and on such short notice, and after children had pointed out both the Emperor had no clothes and had a small willy – so Principal O'Neill knew that he'd be... using people who'd _try their best. _Never the less, before the students arrived, he had all the old faculty meet the new arrivals for a light brunch and get to know each other in a team-affirming esteemercise.

"You call THIS a staff room?" bellowed Mr Fuld, disdain on his face like a Chez Pierre customer realising they'd been given a Happy Meal. "Well that explains _everything _about the school's performance! No incentives for staff! I bet the bonuses aren't even the usual 125% of salary!"

DeMartino was about to open his mouth and reply, so O'Neill hurriedly jumped in with "That's an interesting viewpoint, Gordon, I'm certainly willing to take any ideas from your valuable business experience onboard-"

"I've got an idea," said Coach Tommy Sherman. "We should have brewskis in here."

"THAT is the most INSIGHTFUL AND ACCURATE thing you have EVER said on school grounds, THOMAS!"

"It's... we'll put that on the back burner until we can properly address it," said O'Neill. "Er... Mandana! What do you think-"

"Alcohol is a demonic thing that dulls the mind and soul," hissed the aging Mrs Nikahd, eyes burning with holy fire. "_And that impairs PLAYING SPORTS._" She pumped her fist in the air, and seemed disappointed when no one else did.

"That's a point well worth taking into account. Er... _Ken! _Any... any views on... stuff?"

Ken Edwards thought this through for a few seconds. "I don't think much of the Language Arts and English curriculum's my predecessor did, I'd like to do some major changes," he said.

"ohdear. _Well!_I think this is going well, we're all becoming one big happy family – er, yes Claire?"

"I'd like to hear more about Tommy Sherman's idea," said Ms Defoe, looking fed up.

_I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry._

"You've done something to cripple the unions, right?" asked Fuld. "We can't have those grasping bastards ruining our-"

"You're IN the union," growled DeMartino through gritted teeth.

"_WHAT?_"

O'Neill cried.

* * *

A new era had dawned on Lawndale High. The metal detectors lay dormant, the CCTV drooped down, the security guards were sunbathing at the checkpoint and drinking beer.

"Hey Steve," said a kid in a large trenchcoat that could conceal anything.

"Hey."

"Hey Steve," said Burnout, smoking a massive joint.

"Hey."

"Hey Steve," said Daria, carrying a large gun.

"Hey."

Once inside, Daria handed the replica back to Tom and ten bucks to Jane: "Double or nothing that Steve _will _pay attention if I start aiming at heads with it."

"Oh you just like losing, doncha?"

"I'm a little worried that things may swing too far the other way," said Tom, "and a new, harsher regime will come in claiming it's protecting us from chaos, systematically eliminating the undesirable elements. But I won't be here, so I'm not _too _worried. I'll sit on the sidelines wagging my finger disapprovingly and not doing anything."

"No, no, that's stupid," said Daria. "Sell weapons to the new principal and claim they're nice really, _then _do the disapproving finger-wagging."

"It could go the other way," said Jane. "We could get some of us into a coalition faculty. _Kevin for Science teacher._"

Daria blanched. "Suddenly I support the state."

"_Upchuck for girls Gym teacher._"

"GAH! Tom, help me out here!"

"I'd like to, but I'm worried my intervention might make this worse."

* * *

The new era was getting rain clouds in first period with the new Economics teacher, Mr Fuld. In his implausibly (dyed) blond hair and his corporate chic suit, he cut a very silly figure but still gave off the presence of a man who expected to be listened to. (Five students had naturally gone into a stupor and not been noticed)

"Forget everything you knew! Forget all that namby-pamby talk of limits and regulations – _this_ class is now going to teach you the _real_ facts of the economy, and there's no room for following the regulated path! Not if you want to _make it!_ It is dog eat dog and _you're_ going to be the dog eating those wussy other dogs! Welcome to _Wall Street_ rules, like _I _lived and breathed for twenty years!" He paused. "Yes, blonde cheerleader!"

Brittany lowered her hand. "Umm. If you're so good at Wall Street, why are you working _here _now?"

Gordon Fuld stared into a distance only he could see, his jaw slack and his eyes vacant.

"Mr Fuld?"

There was a small, keening sound, deep in his throat.

"Ten bucks that someone makes him cry by the end of the week," said Jane.

"You're on," replied Daria.

* * *

Mr Edwards was casually dressed, smiling, asked everyone to call him Ken, and seemed enthusiastic. Quinn hated him.

"...and forget your old syllabus, you won't need those books-"

Quinn _loved_ him. With a cry of "WHOOOOO!", she took out a lighter and set fire to her Shakespeare omnibus (after ripping out the gory pages to keep). A few other kids looked at each other, unsure if they should do the same thing; Sandi, determined not to be outdone, started to hack her book up with scissors while bellowing that this was a _great_ idea and _just_ what _she'd _thought.

Cindy Brolmsa winced and carefully put her book in her bag. At the sight of this, _every single popular and semi-popular boy _ceased their attempts at book destruction and quietly put them back too (with the exception of Joey, who was halfway through and went "AW CRAP!" at the sight)

Sandi stared daggers. _What in the name of that guy from the Christmas cards?_

Ken Edwards watched the display, thought about it, and decided to concentrate on forgetting he'd ever seen it.

"I intend to introduce you to books about the _passion_ and _romance_ of the human condition, the type of literature that _really _means something, like..." His eyes briefly strayed over to Tiffany. "...the one I'm writing... about a... older, handsome man who... introduces a blossoming young flower to... true-"

"_EWWWWW!_" screamed Quinn, disgusted. "This guy's an even _bigger _hippie than O'Neill!"

He shook his head, the outburst having cut through his fog of longing and reminded him he was in a classroom with dozens of shifty, suspicious eyes and ears.

"Aha... yes... Anyway! Before we get started, I'd like to tell you about a homework assignment for the week, one that will challenge you to-"

* * *

"**-JOIN A TEAM AND STOP BEING SO DAMNED LAZY!"**roared Mrs Nikahd, froth almost spraying onto Jane's face.

"We can't," said Daria, out of froth range. "Nobody picked us."

It was true. Li's downfall or not, the two outcasts were still pariahs at school for ending byes for every jock in Lawndale. _Nobody _was picking them for volleyball team.

"Fine," growled the teacher. "Then you can form your _own_ team, and be _forced_ to shape up, because _thou shalt not permit a loser to LOSE!_"

"I don't think that's how it goes-"

Nikahd ignored them, fixating instead on Dawn Harris – her _greatest_ nemesis in life, a fat person. "**YOU! YOU ARE IN TEAM STOP-BEING-LOSERS TOO!**"

Jane grinned. "Ah, cool. _Nobody _bounces a ball past Dawn. I already like this lady better than Morris, but I'd say that about Elizabeth Bathory."

"I hope everyone in the boy's Gym lesson is suffering too, but I'd never be that lucky."

* * *

"_Dude!_ It's _Tommy Sherman!_" gasped Kevin.

"Yeah, we know, Kevin."

"_Tommy Sherman!_"

"We kn-"

"_TOMMY SHERMAN!_"

"You said that alr-"

"_Toooommyyyyy SHERMAN!_"

* * *

In place of break, there was an assembly. This meant instead of time off, everyone had to listen to Principal O'Neill. (Daria was morbidly glad to notice this included the teachers, and that both Fuld and Nikahd looked on the verge of slaughtering all around them)

"...and so, we look forward to actualising the potential of this school and all its go-getting youngsters-"

"Hey, Cindy!" hissed Skylar. "_You're _smart! Can you tell me what actualising your potential means?"

"Tell me too!" said Corey. "I don't even know what potential means!"

"I'm stupider than both of them!" called Mohammed.

Cindy opened and closed her mouth, confused at the sudden wave of attention. Since no answer seemed forthcoming, she decided to answer the demands and said: "I don't think it means anything, it's just random buzzwords to sound important."

"_Whoooaaaaaaa,_" breathed every boy in earshot.

"That was awesome!" said Corey. "Hey, as thanks, you want to go out with me-"

"No, with ME!"

"I've got tickets to your favourite band! Maybe!"

This was not what normally happened when Cindy explained something to someone. Unsure of how to respond, she said carefully "I... was planning to go to the club in Oakwood later to-"

Two dozen boys revealed that they too were planning this, and a watching Sandi turned to the rest of the Fashion Club with a grim expression: "We have a _problem_."

Up on stage, O'Neill was trying desperately to ignore how everyone was talking and not listening to him, but finally gave up and limped off the stage in tears. Nobody noticed. (Not even half the teachers, who were talking too)

* * *

Ken Edwards radiated slime and creepiness like Chernobyl radiated... er, yeah. Daria even spotted _Upchuck _looking unnerved, and Upchuck had come to school with two pimp canes that day.

"I'd like to tell you about a homework assignment for the week, one that will challenge you to _express_ yourselves and _explore _your feelings and development... A creative writing assignment exploring your own personal awakening of romantic feelings as you enter adulthood!"

Everyone was quiet.

Finally, thus spake Kevin: "Dude, that sounds _lame!_"

Half the class agreed.

"Now, young-" Ken Edwards checked his seating chart and pronounced Kevin's surname with a "Th", "I will have _order_ in my classroom! Now, my job is to challenge you and open your mind to... _new things_, and I believe this assignment will get great things out of many of you."

Daria raised her hands. "What if we _have _no romantic feelings?" (Tom winced, unknown to her)

"I expect _full commitment_ from _all _of you."

And lo, there was grumbling. And among some students, very suspicious glances.

"I'm getting a funny feeling about this," muttered Daria. "I feel like a chicken being told by a nice friendly man that it's going on a trip to Kentucky."

"But you have to admit, you're looking forward to seeing what Upchuck writes," said Jane.

* * *

Daria looked at the blank computer screen, and it looked at _her_.

"Well, I gave it a shot." She left and went to watch TV.

"Chinese cities need some real gorillas to clear up _this _amount of sewage! Pong Kong, next on Sick, Sad World!"

* * *

"I've called you all here for an important matter," said Quinn, looking to each and every one of the Maleficent Eleven. "Someone among you must know: _what the fuck does this assignment EVEN MEAN?_"

Dave thought hard. "Hippie shit," he finally said.

"Yeah, but there's, like, _types_ of hippie shit, sub-genres of it and... and _things._ How are we supposed to piss all over the assignment if we don't know what it is? What if we accidentally _do_ the assignment _properly?_"

The gang shuddered in disgust.

"I _think_," said Jackie, known to all as Slutty Girl (except her parents as far as anyone knew) because she was slutty and a girl, "we're supposed to write about how we felt when we first fell in love. So we could just write a load of overly graphic smut."

"That's... that's _fucking A!_ No way will Mr Edwards be looking for _that!_" Quinn surveyed her acolyte with a hard glare. "We need _pointers_."

* * *

There was a romcom on the TV after Sick, Sad World. Daria flipped a channel and found _another _romcom. She flipped again and found one of the endless Friends repeats, where Ross and Rachel were again getting together (before they broke up again).

"You think you can rely on someone and they just let you down." She switched off, sighed, called up Jane. "It's strange, but a homework assignment about emotions is defeating me."

"Aww, where's that scheming malignancy I know and love, amiga?" responded Jane's cheery voice. "Just Google some crappy Harlequin Romance, copy-and-paste something, and change the names. That's how I finished the assignment with four days to spare!"

"Tempting, but Mr Edwards is going to notice if too many students do that. Clearly, other lazy people are trying the same thing."

(A few streets away, Tiffany was patiently printing from the Harlequin website and crossing out names to write "Tiffany" above them)

"Crap. You'll have to actually _try _things. Sorry."

"Hrrr. I'll come back to it tomorrow. I might think of something in the next twenty four hours, besides how much this assignment sucks."

* * *

In Oakwood, there existed a very unimaginatively but extremely accurately named Dance Club, the only real nightspot in the county if you didn't like The Zon. And while Cindy _did_like The Zon when the Spiral was playing (omg Trent so hot SQUEEE), she generally preferred happy pop beats you could dance to. Or "stuff that sucks", as her friend Kristen Leung viewed it – why couldn't smart people like Lady Gaga though? (Kristen's answers didn't count) – so Cindy tended to go on her own and meet with people she knew there.

She didn't normally meet twenty-two guys from her school there. When she first met them, she looked over her shoulder to make sure someone with bigger boobs wasn't standing behind her.

"Hey! Cindy! Glad you made it!" charmed Skylar. "I've been looking f-"

"You want a drink? I can get you one!"

"I _already _got you one!"

"I got you _two!_" cried Joey, adding "and I only damaged that book because... er... _he_ forced me to!" while he pointed out the nearest bloke. "He _hates _books!"

"No I don't! No I don't! I read all the time! I _have a library card!_"

Cindy would have asked questions at this point, but a particularly vapid bit of dance music was played at that very moment: "_Oh my god I love this song! _Who feels like dancing?"

Everyone was very clear that they felt like dancing.

Lurking in the corner like a particularly snooty bogeyman, Sandi witnessed the sight and growled. "You see? _You see? _She's dangerous. We have to stop her."

"This is a problem," said Tori Jericho, sounding like a Berlin soldier who'd just seen the Red Army. "Everything I've gathered suggests that right now, _Cindy is the most popular girl in school._ We left a vacuum and nature absorbs those or something! If we don't knock her out soon... I have no idea. I can't fathom this. _The old order is gone!_"

"If this isn't dealt with, then _non-geeky_ girls might _become geeks_," said Sandi, who would have elaborated if she hadn't noticed a particularly geeky girl was standing next to her and listening. "Uh, ex_cuse _me?"

"Sorry, I forgot what I was doing for a second," said Stacy before she walked off to find Jeffy.

* * *

Tom had got through half a page on his assignment, effortlessly detailing his first awareness of girls (and that they had thingies), when he reached the point he knew was coming: dating. Which meant, at some point, touching on how he'd dated Jane. And then mention Daria.

_What exactly am I going to say about either of those things that wouldn't upset Daria if she saw it? Hrrrr._

He saved the file and went for a drive to clear his head.

* * *

Cindy was trying her best to dance with every boy who asked – _boys asking including hot ones YES OH GOD YES_– but that was getting hard now the Oakwood High boys had started to notice her too. Still, she'd have to grin and bear it (SQUUUUEEEEEEEE!).

As a fight broke out over who was next in line, Sandi gritted her teeth and said: "We need to get Upchuck to date her. Or imply she wants to date him."

"Oh god, so it's come to this." Tori ran her hands through her hair. "Potentially dangerous tactic, most guys will look down on a _total_ slut but they'll want to score with her and in _this_ climate, that makes being slutty _sort of genuinely popular_. And then we're _sunk_, Sandi."

"We have to try. For the good of, like, the school and stuff."

* * *

Meanwhile, Chuck Ruttheimer the Third was starting his assignment on his romantic awakening in young life.

Or rather, he was looking at a blank screen and sweating.

He didn't know what to write. In the same way a chimpanzee wouldn't know where to start if you told it to conduct Ode To Joy.

"_mbmbmbl_", he whimpered.

* * *

Daria's dreams were full of Tom making grand romantic speeches – she didn't really know what the speech _was_, but she knew with dream-logic that it was erudite, effective, truly romantic in a way that left hearts and loins sizzling. And then he waited for her to state her own feelings.

And waited a long time.

She woke up before she answered him, panting as she tried to forget the dreams.

_It's just a stupid assignment. It doesn't mean anything. Get a grip._

* * *

"So how's the assignment going?" asked Jane, looking smug. "I hear what doesn't kill you totally makes you stronger, unless it cripples you for life."

"Going very well!" said Tom, sweating slightly. "Totally well. Well."

"So you'll let me see some of it."

"You could've at least _pretended _you believed me."

"If you've written a single word, you're doing better than me," said Daria. "I can't think of a single damn thing to write." There was a brief and uncomfortable silence, and Daria realised too late what she'd just implied in front of her boyfriend. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," he said, too quickly to be true.

Irritated by that speed, Daria said: "And why are _you_struggling?"

"It's personal." He was also irritated.

"I see."

"_Hey look it's Quinn I bet she's doing something dumb!_" cut in a desperate, embarrassed Jane.

All three outcasts turned to watch as Quinn screamed and kicked at a locker door until the handle broke off, before going "oh" and going to the locker that was actually hers. Daria and Tom agreed this had been very dumb indeed, and that papered over the tension for a bit.

But only papered.

* * *

As Ken Edwards' first class filtered into the room, Tiffany went up to him and said "IIIII've done the assiiiignmeeenttt."

He looked at her with awe and joy. "I _knew _you'd understand."

"Uhhhhhh..."

* * *

Sandi went over to Upchuck in a creeping shudder, afraid of contamination. "So, like, I heard Cindy would like to go out with you and is too shy or whatever to-"

"_Eeeeexcellent!_ I best not disappoint her!" sleazed Upchuck, while thinking _oh thank you God I might at last be able to do the assignment thank you THANK YOU_.

* * *

It turned out the book they'd be studying was Lolita. And that sent alarm bells ringing in Daria's head like an air-raid siren during a Luftwaffe bombing of Silent Hill. Especially when they'd be reading lines out and Brittany had Lolita.

Luckily, Kevin was doing the narration first and he pronounced it "LOL-itta", and started to chortle "ha ha, LOL! That's cool!", utterly wrecking the lesson.

Unfortunately, that left Daria to think more about the assignment. About writing about her romantic awakening. And, for that matter, romance. And her. And feelings.

She deliberately kept her inner self hidden under layers of detachment and sarcasm, and she'd have to show it off. And everything she'd felt about Tom. And the worst part was she couldn't think of _anything to write at all_, and what if that wasn't simply nerves? What if-

_Crap._

* * *

After class, Jodie motioned to her and said "Hey, Daria, there's something bothering me about Mr Edwards."

"You mean there's something that doesn't? Now that's shocking."

Jodie frowned. "Yeah, yeah, flippancy, very progressive. Look, something's-"

"To be honest, Jodie, the assignment-"

"That's just _it_. That assignment... Something stinks here and someone needs to prove it, and in a way that will get Edwards to-"

"I'll help," said Daria, thinking glorious thoughts about the assignment being cancelled, burnt, and the ground beneath it salted.

"That's what I was hoping," said Jodie, even though she sounded like the Mayor of Tokyo having to make a deal with Godzilla. "Between the two of us, we should be able to get to the truth."

"You want to undermine the school again already?" Daria remembered Jodie using the Lawndale Lowdown to kick the Li regime's shins the week before. "You need to pace yourself."

"I don't want _anarchy_," spat the girl, "I want a strong school and a working authority. That's what you _need _in the world. But something's going on and I don't like things being covered up. The truth needs to come into the light. Hypocrisy needs to get revealed."

Daria almost said 'we're not talking about the school anymore, are we?' but stopped herself just in time. She didn't want to upset Jodie. Not right now, anyway.

"Time to put in some research..."

* * *

"...and I think I danced with forty boys and three girls as well but I'm not counting them!" breathed Cindy with joy to her Goth friend Kristen. "It was _awesome! _But why is it happening?"

"You're asking _me _to explain popular people?" said the gloomy dressed member of a socially unpopular subculture.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

"And don't look now, but someone _science _can't explain is turning up-"

"The sizzling Cindy!" Upchuck slid over and lowered his latest 70s-style shades from his eyes. "Why, this is a surprise! Tell me, what-"

"Please stop."

Upchuck crumpled. "_mbmbmbl_"

Now Cindy felt embarrassed, and muttered "umm, you can talk normally if you want...".

"I... no, no. Nobody can help me with the Language Arts assignment, I see that now..."

"Oh, that's no problem! Kristen here just copied a Harlequin Romance excerpt from the Internet and changed the words!"

"The whole 'chambermaid during the Civil War' thing is a metaphor," said Kristen.

"...thank you," said Upchuck, walking on. "That helps... I guess that helps..."

Nearby, a boy said to another boy "Whoa, Cindy really _is_ cool!" and a listening Sandi thought _you win THIS round.._.

* * *

Lunchtime gave Jodie and Daria a chance to get online and start doing a search. With two of them it would be quicker going, but there were lots of Ken Edwards out there, and lots of creepy teachers, and creepy teachers with "Ken" or "Edward" in their names.

"Edward Kens? Oh come on."

"I've got another idea," said Daria. "He's a wannabe writer, yes? And what do wannabe writers do when they have Internet access and know lots of people with no taste are online?"

"...hmmm."

"In his first lesson, he gave a description of the book he was writing. It sounded a little... _practised._"

Jodie typed out as much of the description as she could remember and clicked Search: "Aha! Found a writing blog! And yep, it's the book blurb! There are excerpts here..."

The girls read one of the excerpts.

"We just found the smoking gun, as well as the smoking bazooka, the smoking crater, and a wonderful new way for bulimics to purge themselves."

* * *

"Oh dear," said O'Neill, followed by "oh dear" and them, just for variety, he said "oh dear".

"A female deer," said Daria.

"This is, um, well… as long as things are just _written_, it would be bad to condemn someone for…. Uh… the assignment is probably… aha…"

"Sir, when you say things, do even _you _believe them?" asked Jodie.

O'Neill burst into tears and the girls looked at each other. Without speaking, they acknowledged that there was a 1 in 2 chance of the principal taking action (it _was _O'Neill).

There went the assignment. Daria was safe.

As long as she didn't dwell on the initial problem.

* * *

"That's definitely a situation," said Superintendent Pascal. "Hmmm."

"_I-I-I d-don't know what to doooooooo,_" wailed O'Neill down the phone.

"Stay strong, soldier! You're doing great work under extreme circumstances, you're like Patton only skinny and not smoking! Now you've stopped the assignment?"

"Y-Yes, but um… with this come to light, should he really be teach-"

"Just manage him, O'Neill. Don't worry about anything beyond that. I have things perfectly under control."

Pascal hung up and started updating his 'it's all O'Neill's fault, I had no idea about [staff member X]' form letter.

* * *

"I'm sorry, class," said Edwards, clearly upset. "Your principal simply can't handle the fact of your maturity and awakening – I've had to cancel your homework assignment."

The Three J's lead the room in a great cheer.

The room except for Quinn, who screamed "DAMN IT I JUST WASTED A FUCKING HALF HOUR ON THAT SHIT!"

Edwards blinked. "If any of you _did _complete the assignment, you can hand it in for extra credit-"

It was too late, Quinn had already started to burn it. Other students looked at each other, shrugged, and started handing her _their _homework too. Edwards watched the loss, and wept.

"Haha, what a wuss!" haha'd Quinn.

* * *

The fire alarm went off, disrupting Maths (and waking everyone up). The students trooped out, giving a ragged cheer.

"Five bucks it was Quinn burning the Language Arts assignment," said Daria.

"Double or nothing that Burnout Girl lit up in class again," said Jane.

"You're on."

"You're assuming that little talk with O'Neill went well then?"

"I _hope _so. Just wait until we have hard evidence that Edwards is trying something with a student, I'll bump my teacher kill rate to four."

"Yep, moral reasons are totally why you did this, I can't think of a single other reason."

Daria sighed. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Too late, Daria, you did before and I used my mutant power of remembering recent conversations."

She didn't reply. The two misfits spent the next few minutes heading for the car park, the designated space for everyone to gather during a fire, and she didn't reply then either. Jane patiently stood next to her, tapping her feet, whistling.

Up ahead, Coach Nikahd was screaming at students to start doing exercises: "A fire is NO EXCUSE for missing out Gym! WORK THOSE ABS! WORK! WORK!" She turned an accusing eye to Coach Sherman. "Aren't you going to do this too?"

"No," said Sherman, reading a sports magazine.

Jane turned to Daria, eyebrow raised. "What, no comment about _that?_" When there was no reply, her face softened. "Sorry. I didn't realise how much this really bothered you."

Daria stayed silent for a few seconds, and then said "It's been over five months now. Why do I have this problem?" The question sounded genuine.

"Amiga, you just don't want to talk about private stuff. Who does? It doesn't mean anything about you."

"I can't remember ever writing a romantic subplot in any story I ever wrote. Even when I was five."

"You've made it pretty dang clear how you feel about him. You shone the Daria's Hormones Signal into the skies over Gotham and everything."

"You're a girl. He's not, unless he's kept a very big secret from me-"

"Or lack of one."

"Yes, thank you, Jane. Point is-"

"Yeah, yeah, men and women are conditioned differently, Mars and Uranus, blah de blah – he did approach you."

"Can you honestly say I don't need to open up a bit more?"

Jane didn't say anything.

"Kay-Oh," said Daria. "Continue, Y/N?"

"Y," sighed Jane. "Okay, yeah. You do. But if this bothers you so much, you should talk to _him_. It's easy, you walk over, open your mouth, and words come out."

"That's just it, I _can't _think of the words. Ever. How do you?"

Jane looked down. "To be honest, most of the time in that whole field? I haven't. You're on your own with that one."

The two stood in silence. Silence until they heard Quinn boast "I almost set my own _leg _on fire!" to Spike.

"Five bucks please," said Daria.

* * *

"No, no, that's fine!" called Cindy, backing slightly away from the feuding boys. "I'm not suffering from smoke inhalation! I'm fine! I'll just… go over… here…"

She fled towards freedom but found Sandi instead.

"_You_," hissed Sandi, jabbing a finger at the startled girl. "You're being _watched_. We, like, _know_ your game and it won't work. You don't _deserve _to be in this position."

Cindy's eyes widened. "Oh god, I _swear_, I only use the avatar for random funsies, I'm not trying to – okay, I _know _paying some guy money to use pre-established Warcraft avatar is frowned on and you should build yourself from the ground-"

_She's, like, speaking in tongues!_ thought Sandi, backing away in fear. _She must be a schizopathic!_

When the fashionable girl ran away, Cindy figured out she probably _hadn't _been a Warcraft moderator. That, however, left the big question of just what that had been about. Cindy thought hard about the issue, and decided:

_Corey is really hot, maybe I should ask him out._

Her thoughts may have been sidetracked from the issue.

* * *

"GAAAH!" screamed Erin. "UNCLE JAKE! THE STEW'S ON FIRE!"

"I know!" said Jake happily. "Oh, we better duck….nnnnn…ow!"

The punk pulled her to the floor as the stew's top exploded, sending burning liquid across the entire kitchen. A burning slice of carrot rolled across the floor before falling over.

"I just got the urge to do the ol' Petrol Bomb stew we had at college!" he said. "You know why we called it that?"

"Yes."

Helen overheard all this and chuckled, heading for the TV to catch up on the news (apparently Ted Dewitt-Clinton had been tracked to Colorado). To her surprise, Daria was sitting at the sofa, staring at the dead set.

"Daria? Daria, the TV's not on."

"Shh! I'm watching this."

"Daria, did you just hear what was happening in the kitchen and _not _make a sarcastic comment?"

Daria mumbled in reply.

"Is everything okay, sweetie?"

She bit her lip, thought for a few seconds, and then said in a rush: "How exactly did you and Dad start going out? I'm curious. Did you ask him out or was it the other way round, and if so how did he manage when he… er…"

Helen sighed. "Your father can 'er', yes. Well, let's see, it was not long after we met, shortly before New Year's Eve 1981, and if I remember correctly from your father…"

_"Let's go AWOL, you said!" _cried Jake._ "Christmas outside of the barracks, you said! FOOD AND GIRLS, YOU SAID! WELL I DON'T SEE ANY FOOD AND GIRLS ON THE HIGHWAY TO HELL!"_

_"Calm down, Jake," said the hulking figure of Randy, in a tone of voice that suggested you should calm down if you wanted all your teeth. "This road has to lead somewhere, doesn't it? There'll be a gas station or something."_

_"My father was right," said Jake, tired and beaten. "Punk music has ruined me. Oh, curse you Dee Dee, why did you make let's going sound so tempting? WHY?"_

_They did find a gas station in the end but it turned out the clerk wanted money for basic goods. Randy offered his fist instead, which was of great interest to the police officer who chose that very moment to come in._

_"OH GOD THE MAN!" cried Jake in warning. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I GIVE UP!"_

_That was the last straw for Buxton Ridge: both Randy and Jake were kicked out, with Randy going back to juvie and Jake going to the Tenth Circle (or "home" as it was otherwise known). Parental disapproval hit him without mercy over the next few days, an unrelenting blitzkrieg. Mad Dog, he had him know, was more disappointed than he'd ever been._

_Punk music had failed him, he knew: he'd let himself think there was another way than getting whacked down and doing what he was told and failing, let himself think he could rebel. He never would again._

_Then he went out one day and saw a green-haired babe in ripped denim everythings and pierced nose and high leather boots walking down the street towards him._

_"It's a sign," he whispered. "IT'S A SIGN! I WAS BEING TESTED LIKE THAT GUY WHO HAD HIS KIDS KILLED! I SEE THE LIGHT!"_

_Young Helen immediately headbutted the creepy screaming religious guy._

Daria digested all this. "I see. Unfortunately."

"Yes, it was fortunate I met him when I did," said her mother. "Who knows what could have happened? He could've ended up working in a _company_. It doesn't bear thinking about, Daria."

"The first date."

"Oh, right. That…" Helen started to smile. "Well, we were just hanging around outside the car park of a bank, scowling at all the workers who were going home, and then…"

_"Um… So, er, Hellion, I, er, um, that's to say, um… I… LOOK THAT'S AN INTERESTING CLOUD!"_

_"Snake, man the fuck up – are you trying to ask me out or some shit?"_

"Wait," broke in Daria. "How did you know?"

"He couldn't look me in the eye and he was stammering and sweating like the world's only kosher pig." Helen snorted. "It was _lame_, girl! Your father isn't a hard man to read."

"Ummm… Is _everyone _who feels that way easy to read?"

"Usually, but in some cases…" Helen paused and eyed her daughter suspiciously. "Well, if someone's really nervous, that's 12 point type with all caps, you'd have to be Sarah fucking Palin to misread _that_. And if I know you, Daria, you're really nervous if you truly care. I bet you mumble."

"I've been worried that Tom-"

"Ha! Bitch, please, Tom's been going out with you for _months_, if he felt you didn't really care he'd be _long_gone. He's rich and handsome and all that, he could have a pick of girls if he wasn't happy with you."

"I think saying 'bitch, please' to your troubled daughter is an immediate F on Parenting 101."

"There is no Parenting 101. I'm all _self-taught!_" said Helen proudly. "Anyway, what brought all this on?"

"Had to write something about romantic feelings for class. I couldn't."

"Maybe you're trying too hard. Maybe you should cheat. In fact, no, you SHOULD cheat! Want a second opinion? _SNAKEY! SHOULD DARIA CHEAT?_"

"YES!" screamed back Jake, who had no idea why he was being asked that but went with his principles.

"I don't think printing off Harlequin Romance excerpts with changed names will help my inner angst," said Daria. "Just a theory."

"What I meant is: you're honest about what you observe, right? And you find it harder to examine yourself. Well, don't examine yourself, go write something based on what you observed someone _else_ did that was romantic! Rip them off! If you can do _that_, you can clearly identify romance, right?"

Daria thought this through. She was pretty sure that Helen had the assignment ass-backwards, but it _did _sound doable.

"I'll try ignoring my inner feelings."

"Attagirl, Daria! HIGH FIVE!"

"…pass."

* * *

_Tom and Daria lay back on the sofa, watching the television…_

This was the sixth time Daria had tried writing the opening sentence. She gently bonked her head against the computer

"Doing a _real _good job of honestly recording his romanticism here, Morgendorffer."

Bonk.

* * *

Sandi had used all her skill and cunning to put on dark glasses and a (fashionable) hat and hang around a few steps behind Cindy & Corey. Yeah, she had this spy crap _down_.

"That film was _totally awesome!_" said Corey. "Stuff _exploded!_ And then some _more _stuff exploded!"

"And Will Smith took off his shirt and was all look BOOM!" squeed Cindy. "And then BRRR-TTT-TTTT-TTTT!"

"Pew Pew Pew!"

"PK-SHMM! PK-SHMM!"

Sandi took a few steps backwards; Cindy's schizobrainess must be _contagious_. The situation was graver than they'd thought.

"Man, every time I was dating Sandi or Tori someone and having to eat French food, I could've been watching explosions!" Corey shook his head. "It really makes you think."

Sandi thought. Specifically, she thought _that's it, Cor-eeey, you're on the blacklist_.

"So, Cindy, it's been fun and all, and it's a nice night and, y'know…"

Cindy considered this. "No, I don't know," she said. "Sorry."

The youth began to sweat as he realised he'd have to _verbalise_ things clearly. "Uhhhh… Well… It's kinda, y'know… Cool out, and… And this is a _date_, and…" _SHE'S LOOKING AT ME OH HELL _"Basically, we should totally make out."

Cindy blinked. And then blinked some more. And then, her face turning red, began to stammer "O-O-On the first date?"

"_Yeah!_"

"Um, okay."

Sandi managed to spit-take without even taking a drink, a biological impossibility. Cindy was breaking all the unwritten rules – and oh god, she could _hear_ the slurping now, urrrrg – and without those rules, without that, what was there? Only _crime_, that's what! Relationship crimes! Sandi was pretty sure about that!

"Mmblblblblblbbl," said Cindy nearby.

Clearly, Cindy had been a slut all along – wait, no, in the current situation, sluts might be _good_… except her image had been increasingly all innocent and sweet, which meant being a slut was bad again! It was false branding, like buying the latest fragrance at Cashman's and finding it was a Wal*Mart own brand instead. When boys knew Cindy made out on a first date like she had no shame, her reputation would be _mud_.

Yeah, don't mess with _Sandi Griffin_.

* * *

Bonk.

"Daria, it's time to try your father's latest pois- _meal_, I said me-" Erin paused. "Um. Daria, are you trying to headbutt your own computer?"

"A specific brand of headbutt. This is a defeated headbutt. This family has many different words that can be expressed with a headbutt, like Eskimos and snow but in reverse."

"Uh…" Her cousin looked at her, concerned. "You want to talk about things?"

"I've talked twice and it didn't work out that well. Unless you've got some _really _handy advice on how to deal with the sneaking feeling that you know as much about love and romance as Colonel Gaddafi knows about the Care Bears."

Erin thought hard about that. "No," she said.

"Strike three. I'm out." Bonk.

"What's caused all this, anyway?"

"Had to write something about romance. I couldn't. Tried to sneak around it and say what I found romantic about Tom, but honesty launched a lightning strike and forced me at gunpoint to admit we're rarely that romantic. Then honesty built air bases on me."

"Oh." Erin thought about that. "But you've been dating for months, so-"

"Mum used that argument too. Just makes me fret even more."

Erin thought about that. And then thought some more.

"Hang on, Daria, I need to get a second opinion."

Erin left.

Then half a minute later Quinn entered, stole Daria's phone from her skirt pocket, looked up and called Tom, said "hey poshboy, sis is being a fucking wuss and thinks she's not enough of a hippie, get her to stop moping or I'll glass you tomorrow", and then threw the phone at Daria.

"This isn't an EMO family!" she snarled in true anger before leaving. (Erin stood in the doorway and shrugged: "She's got a point," that shrug said.)

Daria sighed and picked the phone up, catching Tom saying, "I'm going to get glassed tomorrow, aren't I?"

"You will with cracks like that."

"Sorry."

There was a long pause before Tom spoke again, asking if Daria was still there.

"I've been trying to think of something to say. It was an unprecedented success." Sigh. "I know it bothers you that I'm not an affectionate person."

"I don't want you to be Brittany or anything."

"And I don't know if I can _be_affectionate. And then I wonder if you're interested anymore and we don't stay together out of inertia, since… well, we don't do anything couple-esque, do we?"

"But you don't _like_ that corny crap." Tom sounded confused. "I don't either. At least, I assumed you didn't – you never asked for any of it. Okay, okay, maybe _I_should have asked but you weren't giving me any signals here-"

"I _don't_ like it. But isn't that a problem? I can't think of anything – _anything_– to write about, I try writing something romantic and it's us watching TV!"

"You don't like watching TV together?"

"Of course I do, but-" Daria stopped suddenly, wincing. "Crap. _Crap._ I feel like I just discovered penicillin after staring at a giant neon sign saying Penicillin in a drug store. This is me being in new territory and second-guessing myself _again_ because, _again_, real life and what I'm really like isn't fitting the image of what I _think_ things should be like from outside sources! My parents have been together for thirty years and they met because my mother beat my dad up, and my cousin Erin had a _really_ traditional, surface-romantic relationship with her fiancé and look how _that_ ended up! And school, all these people with dating experience, how many of _them_ stay long-term _except Brittany and Kevin whose idea of romance is a slightly bigger backseat? _Who am I comparing myself to and why should I feel inferior to them?"

After a while, Tom said: "That was a highly articulate and well reasoned argument."

"_I _thought so. You know, the town morgue is having an open-day tomorrow. Want to go along after school?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

"It's a date."

Daria went downstairs and soon realised, from the stares: "You all heard that?"

"_Canada_ heard that," spat Quinn. "_eeeeeeeee-mo!_"

"Um. Sorry Erin."

Her cousin shrugged again. "No problem Daria, Brian sucked."

"I'LL drink to THAT!" yelled Jake. "FAMILY TOAST!"

* * *

The next day, Daria and Tom walked around the morgue arm-in-arm, happy. She had their photo taken next to the mummified display of John D-addy-Oe the anonymous beatnik corpse.

And the next day even more boys were begging for dates from Cindy, and Sandi's scream could be heard from the library.

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Randy hails from The Daria Diaries, a cadet that  
went to military school with Jake (due to being violent) and was his only  
friend. He went AWOL after four years and Jake didn't follow, even though he  
wanted to – here, however, he does. (Jake and Helen meeting earlier than in  
canon had been established by Moving Pictures)


	25. Exam Nation

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 25: Exam Nation**

In a top-secret meeting on an unrecorded day in an actually clearly marked room, Principal O'Neill and Superintendent Pascal grimly watched as Mr Ayoade, the IT teacher at Lawndale High, started up the program on his laptop.

"I put in every bit of data on the last four years of grades, class attendance, reports, and any 'bye files' that hadn't been shredded, and _this _is what we can expect at the end of the school year."

The program finished. The men stared.

"I think," said O'Neill slowly, "that before we overreact, we should consider… er…" He stayed silent for almost twenty seconds. "…something."

"And this," said Ayoade, "is a bar graph comparing the last decade of results to this prediction."

The Superintendent looked at this and, to his utter horror, realised he could not pass all the blame onto someone else.

"We have to _do something!_" he roared, pounding the table for emphasis. "This is _not _acceptable! It's bad enough being responsible for you losers as it is, I will not have everyone in county government putting emphasis on the 'd' in Lawndale High every time they talk to me!"

"And… and the effect on the students-" began O'Neill.

"The who?"

"Hmmm… That may be the solution, not just the problem. Maybe… _May_be our academically minded students will be willing to assist their more physically minded peers! Different temperaments and views united by a common goal of learning… and finding _common ground._"

Ayoade thought briefly about the academically minded students and their general relationship with the jocks. "I don't think they'll go for it," he said.

"Oh, I know the stereotypes and stories, but surely they'll help their fellow teens in their time of need!"

* * *

Daria Morgendorffer: "I think you've got me confused with someone else."

Jodie Landon: "_Hell _no, they can lift themselves up by their bootstraps. …jockstraps? Hmmm…"

Edward "the Head" Parker: "D-D-Don't l-l-leave me alone in the room with them, p-p-please _you can have my money-_"

Tom Sloane: "I'd love to but, y'know, charity work, I'm rich… You see how it is."

Bob Rollins: "…this a joke? Look, these piercings and dyed hair aren't for _show_, sir!"

Quentin Gaylord: "Can you tell me again about the flunking and the being held-back, please?"

Cindy Brolsma: "Sure!"

Charles Ruttheimer III: "Oh, _anything_ to help those joyful jockettes in their… _rrrrOWR!_"

Michael Mackenzie: "…well, if I don't we won't _have_ a… _any _teams. Hrrr."

Jennifer Burns: "Uhhhhh… Sorry. Wrong room."

Quentin Gaylord: "And what will this do to their career choices again?"

* * *

"I have bad news," O'Neill told the staff room. "The Student-to-Student Revision Facilitation Programme has just three volunteers-"

"_Three!_" said Ayoade. "I was shocked _too!_"

"-and that's just not going to be enough. Maybe we should run some after-school catch-up courses-"

"YOU will NOT take my EVENINGS! NOBODY will take them!"

"…very well, Anthony, if you feel so strongly about it, we'll put that scheme on the back burner. Maybe we could… er…"

"You can't just _tell _students to do it?" asked Mrs Nikahd.

"Oh dear me, no! That would be _disrespectful _of their opinions-"

"Every sports team is at risk," she growled. "Every. Damn. One. If you won't stop this, then _I will_." A mad light burnt deep in her eyes. "_Any means necessary._"

"Meaning what exactly?" asked Ken Edwards.

"I haven't figured that out yet."

Coach Tommy Sherman eloquently expressed his disagreement with the following views by doing a massive fake yawn. "All this boring stuff is boring Tommy Sherman!" he said unnecessarily. "Dudes, they're high school students, just offer them some money."

"Now, Tommy," admonished O'Neill, "I don't think we should insult the integrity of our students so…"

* * *

"…and they're paying me $15 a session," Daria told Jane. "What they're too desperate to realise is that since all the jocks still hate me, no one will _stay _for a session and I'll get $15 for doing nothing."

"But what about the _ethics_?" asked Jane in mock horror.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of a moral justification sooner or later."

* * *

"Now Kevin…" said Principal O'Neill, flanked by an amused Coach Sherman, "we want to talk to you about the upcoming exams."

"No sweat," said Kevin. "Coach said he'll sort them out for me! I mean, the old Coach."

"He can't sort them out," said Sherman, "because he's no longer here, dummy."

"Ohhhhh."

"And, Kevin, um, I don't want to be confrontational, but the school is no longer granting byes, remember?"

"…awwww _man! _I forgot!"

"Right, Tommy Sherman's taking charge here," said Sherman. "You're going to fail everything, which means you'll have to be off the team, which means the team will _suck_. So you _have_ to do the sessions with Daria Morgaine… Morgon… _Daria_."

Kevin stared at the man with disbelief. "But she's a _traitor! _She made it so we have to study! Through traitory!"

Sherman sighed. "Look, punk, if you don't do this, you'll flunk and you can't play football."

"Not ever?" he whispered.

"Oh yeah, the NFA will ban you from playing football _anywhere_. No, just not here."

Kevin began to tremble. The coach's last comment had passed him by, his mind focusing solely on the "can't play football" part. When he'd been a small child and first heard about Hell, he'd assumed that nobody must be allowed to play or watch the game there. So when Kevin heard "can't play football", part of his subconscious was screaming that if he flunked his exams _he'd die._

"Awww! Alright, alright, I'll… I'll do it."

* * *

"So," said Sandi, surveying both of the other Club members in her room. "This… _test_ thing they're forcing us to do. We are all agreed, I trust, that it would be _most _unfashionable for us to have to study?"

"Mr Eeeeedwards toooollld me I'd geeeeet an A Pluuuussss in Eeeeenglish," said Tiffany. "Shooouuld I aaaask him to set up yooouuuuu guuuuuys toooo?"

"Yes, but tell him to make it a B Minus or we'll look like dorks. Speaking of: _Cin_dy Brolsma. _Sta_cy, status."

Stacy cleared her throat. "Cindy has been known to have dated the following: Corey, Robert, Josh, Skylar, Corey again, Mohammed, Alan… A-A-Alan once dated m-m-m-_meeeeeee…._"

"We'll end the report there, thank you."

As Sandi changed the conversation, Stacy continued to cry while Stacy started to read through the lesson notes Stacy had hidden in her Fashion Club notebook.

* * *

Angel had called a meeting of the Maleficent Eleven at her house, and the others knew it was serious when they saw she had a _book _in her hands.

"Do you recognise this?" she asked.

"It's a book!" said Burnout Girl proudly.

"Right, but do any of you remember seeing it before?"

Dave scratched his head. "Yeah, now you mention it… I think I _dreamed _it…"

"Whoa!" cried Scarlett. "I had the same dream!"

"Me too!"

"And me!"

Quinn raised a hand for quiet. "Hold it, you slags! We can't all have dreamt it! We're conformity-breaking individuals, no way we'd all dream the same thing _or about a book!_ We must only think we dreamt it because we saw it at a time when we were all going to sleep…" And when knowledge came, it terrified her. "Oh god. _That's a Maths textbook._"

The gang recoiled from it like Keanu Reeves from an acting class.

"This is the problem," said Angel. "Exams are coming up and you guys aren't ready and – look, hear me out, okay? If you don't scrape a pass, you'll get held back a year. And people who are held back a year are _losers_."

"What do _we _care about-" Koichi began with a sneer but was drowned out by a horrified Quinn screaming "OH NO!".

"That means – and please don't headbutt for saying this – we'll have to do some studying-"

Dave and Andrea headbutted her.

"She's right," spat Quinn, feeling all dirty inside as she thought about it. "We're going to have to… to… s-s-s-tuuuuuu… Do that thing she said."

Dave and Andrea headbutted her.

"Crap, we will," said Dave in defeat.

"Yeah," said Andrea.

They headbutted each other.

"Hey, what about those sessions thingies the jocks are getting?" said Quinn, an idea springing to mind. "What if we went to one of _them_, even though we're _not _jocks? We'd be studying… but in a way that would tick off the Man!"

The gang stared at her.

"That's a brilliant idea, Killer!" said Angel.

"It's the best idea I've heard since Death Rowe suggested we headbutt the Mayor!" said Spike. "We should give that another go sometime, y'know, maybe his security guards are pussies now."

* * *

"Fifteen dollars for doing nothing?" asked Tom. "Man, add a few zeroes to the end and that's half my family right there."

"I still can't believe how many other people _genuinely _agreed to tutor, considering what it'd mean for them-"

A classroom door burst open and 'The Head' ran out & past them, his head trapped in a wedgie. Guttural laughs came from where he'd left.

"Case in point."

"I'll see you in a few hours. And you _know _you'll love the date."

"To a Prohibition speakeasy-themed club? It'll be a pretentious, historically inaccurate den of pretentious, historically inaccurate idiots who can easily be made fun of, damn right I'll love it. Were you able to rent the police costumes?"

"Oh _yeah_."

Daria kissed her boyfriend goodbye and headed off to the History classroom, ready to get started on a fat book about quantum physics. She was more than a little surprised to see Quinn's gang was there.

"We're here to learn things," said her sister, in the same tone of voice you'd say "we've got rectal Ebola".

Insult to insult, Kevin entered.

"Whoa, when did _you _guys get on a sports team?"

"You cruising for a bruising, bitch?"

"Nah, I go cruising for _chicks_, Quinn. Ummm… don't tell Brit that."

_You win this round, God,_ thought Daria.

* * *

Cindy looked at the room full of boys (and two girls), and they looked back. She wasn't sure, but their line of sight seemed to be on rather… specific parts of her. She was worried she'd spilt something.

"So, the first thing with trigonometry is that each triangle-"

She drew a triangle and everyone gasped in amazement.

"You're so awesome at drawing triangles, Cindy!"

"Can you show _me _how to draw them like that?"

It took ten minutes to get the class through basic trig, seven of them being comprised of "Whoa!" and other such utterances.

* * *

Daria was trying to get through the session, but it was hard when Kevin kept going "traitor! Hssss!" in the background. The obvious answer was to get one of the Maleficent Eleven to batter him but then they'd _all _want a go, and… okay, she couldn't think of a downside to that. She'd give him one last chance.

"Kevin, _you came here._"

He looked down, sad. "I wanted to be in Cindy's session."

"I wanted to be in Upchuck's," said Andrea. "You know if you fire a spitball in just the right way, you can have an eye out?"

"What's the right way?" asked Shane.

"Pointblank range."

"But you can just use your finger."

Spike sighed. "It's about the _style_, duh. There's nothing more punk than punkising something that's traditionally not-punk!"

"_I _once gave the Thanksgiving turkey some piercings!" said Quinn proudly, determined to win that conversation. "Mum and Dad almost choked on it!"

The gang weren't sure whether they should cheer that or not, but did so for fear of looking like squares.

"Could you give _pumpkin pie _piercings?" asked Shaggy, his brow knit with thought.

"WE HAVE TO FIND OUT!"

There was a dilemma here. If Daria let everyone talk, she wouldn't have to do anything. However, that meant she'd have to listen to the inane babble of the greatly unwashed. Cutting sarcasm was highly unlikely to silence anyone (deciphering it would talk thought). Did she want to go for emotionally damaging attacks this early on?

Yes.

"Why is it only five of you are _actually _punks and the others are either Goths, stoners, and a girl of negotiable affection?"

Everything went silent as eleven minds suffered a sudden existential crisis. Quinn began to shake.

"And _I'm _a QB!" chimed in Kevin.

"A shocking revelation indeed." Daria turned to the board. "Okay. Let's get started. Who can tell me what manifest destiny is?"

Silence.

"I'll give you a clue: Mexican-American War." She saw a hand up and winced. "Kevin."

"Has it got something to do with stealing jobs?"

"…can you explain your reasoning."

"Well, my Dad says Mexicans are stealing our jobs and we need to stop them. And war's stop things, right?" Kevin frowned. "Except I'm _kinda_ sure Mr Garcia's from Wisconsin, and Mum said Dad was losing jobs because of… Awww _man_, my head hurts."

Dave looked at his companions, winked, and said: "Hey, is manifest destiny about beating people up and taking their stuff?"

"Yes. Well done, Dave."

He looked horrified. "Awww shit!"

"Manifest destiny was a term popular in the 19th century, describing-"

"Nineteenth? That's _piss-off ages ago!_" said Quinn. "Who _cares? _It doesn't matter!"

Now Daria's head hurt. "First off, you're in a revision session for _History_. History is all about old stuff."

"That's lame! Who decided history had to be full of that?"

"_Second_, manifest destiny was the belief that the United States deserved to expand, including and especially onto land people already lived on. Whole _states_exist because of bloody conquest and the like: New Mexico, California, and Arizona came out the Mexican-American War, and we secured ownership of Texas."

"Arizona and Texas?" Andrea looked sick. "Manifest destiny _sucked!_"

"_I CAME FROM TEXAS YOU FRONTING?_" yelled Quinn, grabbing the nearest chair.

"_AND YOU TOLD ME IT SUCKED DAMN RIGHT I AM!_"

Everyone began to cheer – especially Kevin – as a fight broke out, ignoring as Daria slumped into the chair and gently thumped her head on the desk.

"Why are we still in school?" asked Burnout.

_I hope someone else is suffering_.

* * *

"And _so_," said Mack through gritted teeth, "penicillin was discovered. _Any questions?_"

"Dude, you're supposed to be teaching us science," said Joey, upset. "Stop making stuff up!"

"Yeah, and we _know _cultures are, like, music and painting and stuff, you fraud!"

_WHY am I bothering? Please tell me, Lord,_thought Mack, but the Lord was clearly in the bathroom.

* * *

Stacy looked up and saw she was:  
a) in a classroom  
b) dressed as a nerd  
c) lots of jocks were leaving the classroom  
d) Jeffy was saying to her "man, thanks for coming down from Oakwood, Stacy, we needed that!"

"Errrrrr…." (_Breathe breathe breathe_) "N-No prob… _heeeehhhh…_"

"Does Stacy look familiar to you?" asked one soccer player to another.

"Nah, you're just getting her confused with Stacy cos they're both called Stacy."

* * *

In a dark alley on a dark night and in dark clothes, Daria pounded on the door of a 'speakeasy' in a mood darker than a black hole's asshole.

"What's the password?"

"_Yahooty_," she said, as if it was an Unforgiveable curse.

The door opened and let Tom and Daria in, clad in their 1930s police costumes. Daria had brought a truncheon – she didn't want to know why Erin had had it in her closet – and was twirling it around as she eyed everyone.

"Dear, that's scaring _me_," said Tom.

"You think if we ask nicely, they'll actually shoot someone with a tommy gun?"

The inside of the bar was decked out like a forties style dance hall with a 30s style jazz band and customers in 50s style clothing giving Daria the usual 2010s odd looks. Tom gently guided her to a free table and ordered drinks (apparently Coke was "bootleg" now).

"Bad day on the mean streets?" he asked.

"Quinn and the rest of McDonald's future cleaning staff turned up. Trying to teach them _anything_ is like trying to have a conversation with Mr O'Neill: it's pointless, you're not being listened to, and you'll be a lot angrier than when you started. I only _just _got them to understand manifest destiny and I'm pretty sure they were only pretending to understand so they could leave early. I was tipped off by Shaggy asking me if he could leave early if he said he understood."

"Ah."

"Yeah. And Kevin… well, let's just say DeMartino should be made a saint for resisting the urge to disembowel the dumbass with his own shoulder pads."

A mug of beer landed in front of Daria: "You need it more than Table 5," said the waitress as she walked off.

Tom looked with alarm as his girlfriend seriously considered it. "Stay strong, Daria. Think of the money."

"I did. I thought 'wow, I'm not being paid enough'." She sighed. "I'm not being a very fun date right now, am I?"

"Being a smart boyfriend, I shall dodge that question and go – hey look! _That guy_ is wearing a _zoot suit!_"

She turned round with a hungry gleam in his eyes. "So he is. Suddenly, I realise prohibition was right and we just banned the wrong thing…"

Five minutes of talking later, Daria and Tom were shoved out the door and an angry voice yelled "AND YOU'RE BANNED!".

"That," said Tom, a big grin on his face, "was _epic_."

"Do you know of any other retro night spots?"

"No, but I'm going to _find_some!"

"I love you."

* * *

"UP YOURS KILLER TEXAS SUCKS LIKE JACKIE!"

"It does not," said Jackie "Slutty Girl" Wentworth, who was right.

Quinn kicked Andrea back into the wall, and then paused. "Hey, are we _still _in school? Why are we here again?"

"Think it had something to do with…" Koichi wrinkled his face in confusion. "_Learning._"

"Oh yeah. Man, what's up with _that?_"

* * *

Over lunch, Jane pointed out the flaw in Daria's method: "You need pictures. Simple ones. With bright colours."

"I'm off History – more never started it but who's quibbling – and onto Language Arts. Those strange book things often lack pictures, and if I start drawing out images of The Grapes Of Wrath then O'Neill will cry again. And that man is going to erode his own face at this rate."

"I can but hope. Maybe I should go to the sessions myself-"

"No."

"Persuasive argument. Eh, I've got issues with Maths still. I wanna keep a straight C average, not dip into the grim failures of C Minus and…" Jane raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm not asking _you _for help after school, obviously. You'd hurt me."

"I'll show you subtraction at work on a pizza."

* * *

School had ended, and Coach's Nikahd and Sherman were off to see how the sessions were doing. They got their first inkling when the sounds of an enraged mob could be heard, and the teachers burst through the door to find Upchuck about to be beaten to death by a horde of jockettes.

"Break it up!" yelled Nikahd. "I don't care _how _perverted he's been-"

"He's been using the porn industry to illustrate Economics issues," hissed Siobhan Clarke.

"It's a perfectly viable-" started the pervert.

"He had _visual aids._"

Nikahd thought this over. "All right. One light beating."

The girls cheered and went to town. Tommy Sherman looked at it, shrugged, and turned to his fellow coach: "Not going to give 'em the speech about sacrificing for sport?"

"They are sacrificing. It's just a light beating."

(Upchuck would later wander out of school, bruised and with a stunned, thousand-mile stare whispering "that was _feisty…_")

* * *

Steve looked up from his sports magazine. "Hey."

"Hey, Steve," said Sherman. "That the new Printskin?"

"Yeah. Got an article on-"

"Where's the class?" asked Nikahd.

Steve looked around the empty room. "Oh yeah. I don't know anything about Geography so I told them they could all go home early."

"…what?"

"You don't want me teaching 'em the _wrong _stuff, do you?" he asked, going back to the magazine.

"He's got a good point," said Sherman.

* * *

"I'm sure Mack will-"

The door burst open and Mack stormed out yelling **"AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRR!"** followed by screams of **"ENTITLED CRETINS!"** and a swift kick at a wall that had done nothing to him.

"Oh hellfire," said Nikahd, slumping.

"Hey, Tommy Sherman says we did the best we could… well, best I can be assed to do, so let's just leave 'em and-"

"I will _not_ have the sports teams _decimated._ I will _NOT_. Sports will _prevail_. I will _MAKE IT PREVAIL_. I come from a bloodline of sportsmen and _my family WILL NOT BE ASHAMED OF ME AGA-_" She cut herself off, realising she was in a corridor and not coming fourth-last in a sports day. "You didn't hear that."

Tommy Sherman stared, his mouth open.

"_Now then! _We need to work on something, something that will… will motivate them all…"

Sherman thought this over. "I think I have an idea…"

* * *

"And that's why this is the seminal novel about the invasion of America by rage-filled grape monsters," said Daria, seeing if anyone was paying attention. They weren't.

"No, no, no, NO!" yelled Dave, punching Shane for good measure (he was there). "That's _stupid! _Books are for sissies, you could not use one in a fight!"

"_Hardbacks!_" said Shaggy, flipping him off.

Quinn kicked Shaggy in the nuts, but only mildly as a rebuke. "Duhhh, Shag, wussy stuff can never _be _hard. Dumbass."

"Hmmm." Jackie looked up. "What about those books that have, like, heavy card covers instead of paper ones?"

"Okay, yeah, you could hit someone with _that_, I guess. What do you think, Angel?"

"I think I suggested we come into this class for a _reason_," said the punk girl, confused. "But I can't remember what."

"Have you been borrowing from Burnout again _that's a fucking brilliant idea POT ALL ROUND!_"

The students lit up (Spike headbutted the smoke detector first). Daria turned from them to Kevin: "And are you getting any of this?"

"Nah, drugs are uncool."

"I _meant_ the _lesson._"

"Ummm…" Kevin thought about this long and hard. "If I say yes, does that mean I pass the exam and can still play football?"

"It's a shocking concept, Kevin, but in exams you have to _actually know _stuff." Her voice had gotten harsher.

"Oh." The quarterback looked dismayed by this turn of affairs. "You don't have any pictures, do you? That could help."

"What was I thinking, not having pictures in a lesson about an non-illustrated text medium?"

"Awww, don't worry Daria, everyone makes mistakes." Then he remembered he was talking to a traitor. "I mean _of course you didn't think, TRAITOR!_ You were too busy thinking about being a traitor!" He breathed a sigh of relief. _Almost messed up there_, he thought to himself.

"HEY SIS!" yelled Quinn. "When's the fucking _wrath _gonna be in this book, it's just some pricks jawing!"

"This Steinbeck bastard lied to us!" snarled Dave. "I see him, I'll kill him!"

"Dude!" Kevin was annoyed. "Now I gotta take the Fifth!"

Daria took a deep, long breath. She had to stay calm. She had to-

And then someone farted and everyone cheered.

Daria shoved her papers back into her schoolbag and walked out, texting "Coming to help w maths and kill self" to Jane as she went. The twelve watched her go.

"She must be going to get the wrath bits from the library," said Kevin, nodding sagely.

* * *

Daria fixed Jane with a deathly glare and said: "You will pay attention to everything I tell you and not make any remotely punkish comments, or I will have to tell Trent how you 'spontaneously combusted'."

"Somewhere, DeMartino is smiling."

"He does this sort of thing every day. He _never_smiles."

(Meanwhile, across town, DeMartino was smiling. He was watching Class Of '84, specifically the bits where the teacher beats up the students. He had popcorn.)

* * *

"This is the plan," said Tommy Sherman.

O'Neill and Pascal looked over the sheet of paper. It read: "1. Announce football game party for all C or above students, with underage-drinking amnesty. 2. Have party, drink. 3. Pay Tommy Sherman more."

"I'm on board with the first phase of this attack plan, but phases two and three seem like a waste of resources," said Pascal.

"That's because you're dumber than Tommy Sherman-"

O'Neill ducked on instinct, and the Superintendent's eyes grew cold and violent. "I am the _Superintendent of Schools._"

"Sorry. You're dumber than Tommy Sherman, sir. Anyway: if we don't _have_ the party, no one's gonna listen to us ever again. We'd be less popular than _referees_. And you should pay Tommy Sherman more because he's saving your butt."

"We don't have the budget for raises," said the county government man who'd recently bought a new sports car. "The party, we can manage that if we cut something. Any problems with cutting the Music budget?"

"Well-" began O'Neill.

"Excellent!"

* * *

"…so do you understand?"

Jane thought hard about that, and eventually said "Sort of."

"We'll try again tomorrow. Teaching will be a nice break from teaching." Daria tried to rub the fatigue from her eyes. "They all clearly knew they needed to learn more. That's why they were _there_. Was it too difficult for the empty wastes they call heads to grasp? I swear, if I see a single one of them again tonight-"

Jane's door rang. It turned out to be Kevin.

"Huh," said Daria. "Kevin, would you like to come with me to the dark, soundproofed basement of this house and its many blunt instruments?"

"Ummm… Is that where the lessons are now?"

"Biology ones, certainly." Her voice was frostier than Frosty the Snowman's nutsack. "How and why are you here?"

"Well, after twenty minutes I realised you weren't coming back, so I figured we'd moved the session away from school. So I went to your house, but then I remembered I didn't know where it was, so I went to Jane's house because I _did_know where it was because I TPed it last Halloween – er, I mean… Ummm… So, I'm here for more learning!"

"Kevin. You have barely put in the slightest effort to learn a thing. Why should I continue to waste my time?"

"I'm the QB?" he said weakly.

"Your face will self-destruct in five seconds. Four. Th-"

"But if I flunk I can't play football because I'll be dead and I don't wanna be dead and the words are just too _hard_ so I just start thinking about football and boobs instead and and _aaaand_… Uh, that's it."

It was like watching a puppy that couldn't understand why a palaeontologist wouldn't let it eat a bone. Daria had known Kevin was pathetic but _this _was actually just as pathetic as he normally was. It stirred something inside of her, both guilt and a desire to make him go away, both feelings in tandem. But still some guilt.

"All right, Kevin. All right. You get one more chance. Right here and now, you do exactly what I say and you pay attention." She turned and yelled up the stairs: "JANE I'M GOING TO NEED SOME BRIGHTLY-COLOURED PICTURES!" She was taking no chances.

* * *

"So… Manifest destiny was just a fancy way of saying something that was really obvious!" Kevin stared in amazement at the little stick figure cowboys planting a flag on stick figures with sombreros. "And we thought it was obvious we should kill people and take stuff! _Whoa!_ We were _dicks!_"

"Very good, Kevin," said Daria, who knew she should feel some pride but only felt relief. "Now… What do you know about the civil war?"

"It was, like, slave's rights and not keeping states and… uhhh…"

Daria nodded to Jane, who finished off her drawing of a little white stick figure holding a Confederate flag while kicking a black stick figure. Kevin's eyes widened in understanding.

"We may have this finished in time for The Wire," said Daria.

"That show's weird. They don't _seem _like electricians."

* * *

It was a late, late night when Daria finally staggered back home, eyes like a zombie and gait like a zombie and moaning like a zombie but, thankfully, smelling of soap. The comforting sounds of Germans snarling into microphones drew her into the house, where her parents were aggressively air-guitaring to the music on their kitchen table. Erin, her ears long since naturalised, watched the TV without noticing the din.

"Hi."

Her parents yelled someone incoherent in greeting. Based on the pitch and the length of the babble, it was chilli again tonight and Dad had already tried some. (That couldn't do much for his heart. Or intestines. Or gall bladder.)

As she made her way upstairs, she saw Quinn slouching around in a conversation with Spike. When her sister saw her, she said: "Hey, you coulda _told_ us it was time to skip! We had to stay in school for _minutes longer than-_"

"Oh shut up."

Quinn actually _did_, the blunt, bored statement – with no sarcasm to gild it – catching her off guard.

"You and the morlocks can fail by yourselves. I'm busy."

The word 'fail' seemed to trigger something in Quinn. "But wait, we need-"

"You _need_ to realise that being deliberately ignorant and unskilled makes you more pathetic than you usually are. You want to be outside the system and pretend you're all rebellious? You need to know things to pull that off. What, exactly, do you think is going to happen to you and the ten twits when you graduate? What do you have to _offer _anyone except for the ability to be destructive and obnoxious?"

Quinn looked at her for a long time, her eyes looking as if she'd been slapped. "We'll behave better tomo-"

"No, too late. That boat sailed. You're going to have to handle it yourself. I've got better things to do, like anything that isn't teaching you."

Daria left without looking back, and Quinn watched her go. Spike kept staring at the floor, the great punk's face red with embarrassment after hearing all that, embarrassment too great to let him look at his friend.

"I've helped her and she's- She… She _never_…" Quinn shut her eyes, unable to express what she was feeling. She didn't know the words.

"Uh… Killer? Are you-"

"Of course I'm fucking not."

* * *

Shaggy yawned as his phone went off. This wasn't because it was so late he was sleeping, he'd just borrowed some of Burnout's modified spliffs. Whoooaaaaa.

"Yeah, this is… uhhh… You know, me."

"It's Killer. Grab any notes or book you have from school, and a crowbar. We're going to the library and my sister's going to eat those goddamn words because _we're_ going to fucking _learn some stuff._"

Shaggy stared at the spliff in horror. "Oh god what did she cut it with?"

* * *

The library's security measures were overcome by care, diligence, and hitting a window with a big metal stick. Books were grabbed from random shelves, then put back and replaced with relevant books. Which were then replaced with books with bigger type and shorter words.

Once they'd found books that even Shane and Burnout could read, they assembled in a circle around Bob. Bob, Quinn's recurring nemesis, a punk who actually studied and used table manners.

"All right," said Quinn, stoic. "As we agreed. Begin."

"What was manifest destiny?" growled Bob. "_Koichi?_"

"Uh, I wasn't paying attent-"

Bob punched him in the face.

"_Shaggy?_"

"Uh…" The stoner looked at the bloodied nose of his comrade and thought very carefully about the answer. "That was people saying America deserved to, like, go into other places like Mexico and take their land."

"And what war was it used to justify?"

_Oh shit. _"The… Texican W-"

Bob punched him in the face.

"_Scarlett?_"

"Mexican-Texican War _wait no-_"

Bob punched her in the face.

"Mexican… _American _War!" said Quinn suddenly, her mind making a connection between 'America', 'places like Mexico', and 'war'. "That's it, right?"

Bob lowered his fists like Dirty Harry lowers his gun: you knew they were there and would come out five minutes later. "Very good. And what happened in that war besides America winning?"

"…erm… Mexico losing?"

"We'll turn to the book." _I may need to delegate the face-punching._

* * *

Daria noticed that the Maleficent Eleven were even more bruised than usual over the next few days – both face _and_ knuckles; there must have been another argument about whether Rotten or Vicious was the cooler surname – but only in the same way she'd notice a table during the Second Coming of Christ. For in every lunchtime, every break, every _Maths class_, she could see students _studying_. And these students included Brittany so they weren't studying very well, but it was still studying. You didn't expect a penguin to be good at the piano but you'd still go "holy shit that penguin's playing a piano".

"Ewwww!" said Brittany as she poured over a Biology book. "I don't _want _a large intestine! Can't I have two small ones instead?"

"I'm getting scared," Daria told Jane and Tom. "Either the Body Snatchers have made their move or this is the most elaborate hidden-camera prank of all time. Or possibly both, what better cover for the Body Snatchers?"

"The school's having a party for everyone who gets above a C," said Tom.

"How do you know and we don't?" asked Jane.

"Because these days, we're the social equivalents of flatulent Jehovah's Witnesses lepers. Tom, on the other hand…"

"I'm leaving school and everyone knows it, so I think they _forgot _to ostracise me too." He shrugged. "Of all the things I'll miss about Lawndale High, the other students won't be on the list."

"It's a short list, right?"

"It contains 'Daria', 'Jane', and then I got stuck and added 'Daria' again to fill the space."

Daria looked away, blushing. "Ummm."

"So does this mean Kevin now has incentive on his own?" asked Jane. "Because damn it, I bought some new crayons just for him."

"I hope to God it means that."

* * *

Kevin turned up at Daria's house with fake-moustache-and-nose novelty glasses, "so nobody realises I'm working with a traitor".

_God, you've crossed the line. _Daria signed and let him in. "Come on. Let's get this done as quickly and painlessly as possible."

"Oh _man!_Daria, your parents are having seizures!"

She glanced at the nearby headbanging to The Misfits. "Unfortunately no. Seizures _end_."

"PARTY ALL NIGHT!" yelled Helen.

_Really? Cool! _thought Kevin.

* * *

Bob, running low on places to punch, punched Quinn in the left foot.

"Can someone _else_ give me the _right _answer? Come on, damn it! Shrinkage! The business term for the degradation of-"

"Wait, shrinkage is the shop's term for stuff being _stolen_," said Quinn, flashing back to the Mall of the Millennium (and stealing from it).

"Whoa," said Shaggy. "Since you've got the answer wrong, does that mean Killer can punch _you?_"

Bob thought about this. "Yeah, that's fair."

Quinn punched him in the face. _Who knew being a swot would be useful?_she thought.

* * *

"…and that's what…" Kevin concentrated. "A-mor-ti-sa-tion is. Yeah!"

"You know something?" said Daria, smiling. "You really have started to grasp it. You don't need m-"

"Really? _Awesome!_ I'm _outta _here, traitor!" He stood up and fled the house.

_Of course_, thought Daria.

* * *

"I'm really sorry guys, but we've got to study Maths next," said Bob, before raising his hand to calm the panic (and dropping it when everyone screamed at the sight). "Look, I'll only hit you if you get _three _questions wrong."

"I'M GONNA DIE!" screamed Dave.

Burnout Girl quietly fell over.

* * *

And finally, the first exam was upon them all. English. Steinbeck and Shakespeare and Walden. Difficult questions. Expectations of _knowing _things.

Quinn looked at the exam like it was an enemy she was going to beat the shit out of. But not headbutt this time, because she wasn't entirely sure her skull would take it right now. Did that mean she'd sold out? She decided to think about this _after_the exam.

Cautiously, timidly, scared, she began to write. She tried not to notice how everyone else seemed to be writing faster.

Stacy took one look at the exam and when she woke up, it was completed and she had those glasses on again.

_Oh thank god, I was worried for a second!_

Cindy was confident about her first exams and was glad to see others were confident, but _sleeping_during the exam was being silly. Still, that girl "Burnout" – Jennifer? – can't have been really asleep. Not when she was writing.

_And mcbeth saw this king who was king of somewhere else AND Scotland, which was a refrence (a thing that mentions another thing) to the REAL King of England when Shakespeare was writing it cos If you didn't say nice things about the Kind hed totally kill you and getting killed was Bad,_wrote Kevin in a feverishly scroll.

* * *

It was a week before all the exams were done, and the school year began to end. The seniors were cheering and crying and setting fire to textbooks and, in one case to Daria's horror, having sex in the girl's toilets ("I know the stall is dirty but please don't make the sink dirty too"). Everyone else cheered and wished they could burn things.

Daria and Jane didn't bother celebrating since they still had two years to go, though Tom joined in with gusto by writing "FIELDING ROOLZ" over Lawndale High's outside sign. "I'm practising my class war for next semester," he told them.

And that would be that until results came in.

* * *

Mack got an array of B's and A's, and felt pretty good about it. Then he remembered what everyone else on the team was likely to get and think was alright, and he felt pretty pissed. All he needed now was for Kevin to phone up boasting about C Minus grades…

_RRRRRRING_

"Hello, Kevin."

"Bro, how'd you know it was me? You got your grades, Mack-Daddy? You got 'em? Know what I got?"

"A pretty good id-"

"_Straight C's!_"

"Straight? YOU?" Kevin pushed his dropped jaw shut. "That's… congratulations, Kevin. That's honestly a surprise. Good for you. You must've worked hard."

"Oh dude, yeah, I had to _read _that Steinbeck guy. Read him! Man!"

* * *

"C Minuses and D's," said Sandi, shrugging.

"Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee's," said Tiffany, scratching her head. "Is that goooodd?"

"Same as Sandi," said Stacy, looking at a report card that listed A Minuses. (Another Stacy was squeeing)

* * *

There was a knock on Daria's bedroom door. Since Quinn opened it mid-knock, Daria guessed it was Quinn.

"Hey, sis."

"Present."

"I…" Quinn was fidgeting. "I got my exam results. I got C Minus and C on everything except IT, but how can they expect us to _not_look up porn with a computer, tell me that Daria, tell me!"

Her sister stared at her. "You got _multiple _passing grades?"

"Oh yeah, we all did – well, Angel got some B's and so did Burnout, but we're not sure how that happened…"

"_You _got multiple passing grades? Isn't that a betrayal of everything you stand for?"

"Yeah, fucking yeah, ha ha. Well, look, I just wanted to say: ha ha, suck it bitch, I can totally learn stuff and pass things! SUCK IT!" Quinn gestured at a specific part, then stopped in the face of horrible mental images. "Ewww!"

"What I said pissed you off then." The word 'good' wasn't spoken but was clearly heard.

"Yeah! You were saying stuff that clearly isn't true, and… Oh all _right_you motherfucker, I just wanted to show you I could do it, okay? Because-" Killer's voice become lower and quieter. "-you're my sister and can do stuff and what you think is important and shit."

Daria looked at her. Quinn looked away.

"Thank you, Quinn. And I'm glad to see you've realised that you don't have to be stupid. Next stop, above a C."

"Oh get real. I lost a tooth just trying to get a C! I wouldn't survive trying for a B!"

"C Plus then. And I insist."

"Fine…"

Daria smiled. "I'll hold you to that."

* * *

The party was massive, Lawndale High succeeding in getting one hell of a lot of C's. The gym had been co-opted, beer was everywhere (Steve had brought _two_kegs, one under each arm), and the game was on.

**"YOU SUCK!"** roared seven hundred and forty seven football fans at the TV, as the Maryland Mofo's quarterback got tackled.

"It's beautiful," whispered Nikahd to Tommy Sherman. "If I wasn't a married woman-"

"I won't tell if you won't!" The atmosphere next to him turned frosty. "Sigh, fine…"

* * *

It was night time in Lawndale County as Tom drove into Oakwood, listening to a stunned Daria recount Quinn's success.

"Maybe she'll take it onboard enough to behave in class and stop using all the toilet paper. It could be a new dawn."

"So your cutting remarks succeeded? Aww man, now you'll never stop!"

"Hell no."

"Anyway, to celebrate you getting Kevin _and_Quinn to pass and putting up with them, I went around the whole county looking for the right restaurant to take you to. And I found one, right… here."

They exited the car and looked at a large concrete block with a door on. A grey concrete black. A dirty one.

"It's certainly got ambience."

"Ah, no, this is just the front. Inside, it's another retro place. A late 50s and early 60s one." Tom grinned, showing teeth. "Oh, did I mention this used to be a communal nuclear bomb shelter?"

"You found a 50s nuclear war-themed restaurant?" Daria was astounded. "This is the best date we've ever had."

"Better than the ones where we make out?"

"Fair point, this date lacks making out." Daria was silent for a long time. "Um, I was going to say something like 'until now' or something equally as cool and then make-out with you, but I chickened out." Pause. "Want to make out anyway?"

"Even Kevin could answer that one."

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is another story that doesn't follow a canon ep, though the retro speakeasy is borrowed from Life In The Past Lane (S5). Head's full name and Bob's surname come from The Excellent S' Lawndale Fighting Championship fanfics.


	26. QuaranTommed

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Ep 26: Quaran-Tommed**

Most of summer was, for Daria, the norm. She slept in as much as humanly possible, she was greatly irritated by loud noises and bad hygiene coming from her immediate family at any hour of the day, she watched TV, she was on the Internet at sociable hours, she hung out alone at the library and the cemetery, she hung around with her friend at Pizza Prince and the local art museum and the cemetery, she went up with her boyfriend to the arcade and weird movies and the cemetery ("I put that 'Zombies Have Right of Way' sign there two weeks ago and _still _nobody's taken it down…"), and made sarcastic comments about everything and everyone she came across, which is why she was banned from three shops.

But let's make it clear that Daria was doing something productive with her free time:

"Basically, it's the cast of St Jeb's in an alternate steampunk universe where the Confederates won the Civil War. And increasingly bad things happen to four of the main characters, up to and including the contraction of sexually transmitted diseases. And there were zombies, but I'm not sure they'll stay in."

"Some strange, not 'with it' people would point out that your fanfic is, y'know, nothing like the cartoon," said Jane.

"I _improved _the cartoon. Especially by killing people."

"You have to learn there's some things in life that can't be solved by killing people."

"But if you do your best and try really hard…" Daria saved the latest instalment of her fanfic and cracked her knuckles. "And it's nearly six. Time to head downstairs and observe the experiment."

* * *

Helen lumbered in from work and flipped on the kitchen radio, letting the angry passion of disco wash over her. Wait _what?_

"DARIA! I told you before, stop fucking with the stations on this!"

"Damn," said Daria to Jane. "They're detecting patterns after all. This means no-"

A primal yell filled the world as Quinn hurled herself down the stairs, leapt onto the kitchen work surface, and stomped the radio with an almighty stomp and a stomp-cry of "DISCO'S DEAD _NOW!_". ("That's more like it," said a happy Jane.)

"Oh _Quinn_. We had this talk, remember?"

The punk stared down, embarrassed. "I forgot."

"Well, I'll let it slide this time, it _is _hard to keep your head when reminded disco exists…"

Unnoticed by Helen, Jane and Daria had been engaged in muttered conversation. After it finished, Daria nodded to her friend and said: "I hear John Lyndon was a disco fan-"

"_GO TO YOUR ROOM, DARIA!_" screamed Helen.

She handed Jane ten dollars. "You win _this _bet…"

* * *

Tom was also having a normal summer. It was a beautiful day and he was in an office filing earnings reports.

"Keep up the good work and I'll let you use the shredder," said his father, a benevolent tyrant.

_Could be worse,_ thought Tom. _I could be on holiday at the Cove with all my relatives. _Since that's exactly where he was going to be next week, this was a more morose thought than it seemed at first glance.

It was six by the time Tom got home from his 'internship' at Grace, Sloane and Page, and it was approximately 17.59 – right as she'd seen the car arriving – that Elsie had sat in Tom's favourite spot next to the TV and started watching whatever was on.

"Oh _sorry _Tom, I'm in the middle of something – you did set your show to record, right?"

"Yep! Oh, I think I might have accidentally recorded it over Gossip Girl, sorry."

It was the simple things in life you treasure, like watching your sister turn red with impotent rage. Before she could think of a cutting response, their mother entered the room, forcing a détente.

Kay Sloane was on the phone. "I'll just ask him now-" she said, and then turned to Tom. "Tom, would Daria like to join us at the Cove?"

_Hell no_, thought Tom, but he couldn't say that to his mother so he said, "I'll ask her" instead.

He was in two minds about it, really. On the one hand, if Daria was at the Cove then he'd have someone he _wanted _to talk to there. On the other, it'd involve exposing Daria to his extended family and taking her to the world's dullest summer retreat, and he wanted her to remain his girlfriend. Whichever option won, they'd both lose.

Elsie looked horrified by the idea of their family seeing Daria, so Tom decided there was another positive outcome from Daria visiting the Cove.

* * *

Kay had mentioned her son was dating a new girl to Mildred and other relatives before – and laughed nervously whenever any of them had gone "thank god it's not that Jane girl anymore" – but had always been vague about it. They knew her name was Daria, that she was a high achiever at school, and that her parents owned their own companies. They almost certainly (Kay hoped) had the wrong idea of who Daria was and what her background was like.

Sure, the girl was smart and well behaved and was thankfully nothing like her mother, but… well, Kay was always unsure whether she was telling a joke or if she was a dangerous sociopath. (Luckily, her social circles and history of hosting dinners with Angier's colleagues meant she was skilled at laughing at jokes she didn't find funny) She was also so dour and apathetic and cynical, the traits Kay liked least about her son and hoped would sort themselves out.

And… well, she wasn't _really_ the sort of girl Tom could have a future with. Not with that background, it just wouldn't work long-term. (Oh god Helen and Jake as relatives _OH GOD._) Not that Kay was a snob or anything, but come on. Still, as a teenage fling, Tom could do worse. But saying anything like that to Mildred just Wasn't Done; when Mildred suggested Tom invite his partner, she was obliged to pass the message on.

Maybe they'd get lucky and Daria would be busy. _Very _busy.

* * *

"I spy, with my myopic eye, something beginning with C."

"Ceiling."

"This game may be more challenging if we stopped lying on our backs looking upwards."

"Yeah, but we'd have to move. Hey, isn't that your phone ringing?"

"Crap. Well, moving my arm doesn't count as proper movement, right?"

"Sellout."

Daria checked the caller ID, smiled slightly. "Tom. How bad was work this time?"

"I'm hoping for another recession so the company is destroyed. Listen, my family hate you and have decided to invite you to the Cove so you can suffer a horrible, agonising weak of absolute tedium. You want in?"

"You couldn't sell homeopathy to O'Neill with a pitch like _that_."

"I know! It's a really boring time, believe me. You won't like it."

"This just makes me want to go _even more_." Daria was silent for a few seconds, then added: "Actually, I will go. I can help you dig the escape tunnel."

"…huh. I didn't expect this. I'll tell my mum and, oh yeah, we'll discuss this escape tunnel in greater detail beforehand. See you around."

She hung up and turned to Jane. "Tom's family invited me to the Cove. And one of these days, I'll ask which cove it is."

"Man, I never got invited. It's like I was working class or something."

"Working? Scoff."

"I'm surprised you agreed to go. Doesn't human contact go against everything you stand for?"

"Yeah, but I know Tom gets really bored there because there's no one he can properly talk with, and…" Daria blushed slightly. "Umm. Would I sound really pathetic and Brittany-esque if I said I'm excited his family _want _to meet me?"

"Yes. Yes you would."

"Thought so. You're my anchor, Jane."

* * *

Helen and Jake took the concept as well as could be expected. When the Sloane's arrived to pick Daria up, the two punks handed Daria an extra bag.

"It's full of punk music CDs and… a flare gun and guide to Morse code. I'm sure there's a sound reason for this."

"We want to make sure you can fight off the psychic contamination," said Helen. "If you find yourself agreeing the rich should have tax cuts, you just listen and you'll find yourself hating those Fascist fat cats once more."

"And the flare gun and codebook are so you can call in help if things get desperate!" yelled Jake, taking her by the shoulders. "Don't be too proud to use them, Daria! We _all_ need help fighting The Man on his home turf! _Don't be too proud!_"

"You two keep me from feeling any pride, don't worry." Daria debated hugging them, decided that would count as 'contact', and waved instead as she walked off with her bags. "Try not to start any fights with the neighbours while I'm gone."

"_They _started it," muttered Jake.

Daria got into the Sloane's waiting car, noticing that Elsie just _happened_to be sitting in the middle seat so she couldn't be next to Tom. "Very thoughtful, Elsie."

When Angier started driving, he put on The Carpenters to listen to. That, Daria would later realise, should have been her _first _clue things would be bad.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the offices of Buzzdome, Erin Chambers had a problem.

"Now, Jackleene, I don't want to be confrontational but… well, you're being a bit too… confrontational with customers-"

"_What_does that mean?" snapped the company's help desk woman, arms folded and eyes burning with hate for all things not Jackleene.

"Well, it's not very good for our marketing image when you call a client 'bastard'." Erin held up her hands to hold off the onslaught. "No, not even if the client _is _a bastard."

Jackleene muttered vague noises and went back to work. Erin would have to keep an eye on that. Buzzdome was slowly but surely getting into the black, but that meant keeping clients happy. Insulting a client's intelligence, manhood, and wife's fidelity did not do this. Except for that really _weird _guy who kept phoning at 4 PM…

"Erin!" Noah, President of the company, came over with a smart-dressed teenager in tow. "How's everything?"

"I think I know how to explain the new app to people over fifty."

"_Whoa. _Well, I won't hog up your runtime too long, just wanted to introduce you to our new intern – Jodie Landon, meet Erin Chambers."

In unison, the two women thought: _Hmmm, where do I know that name froOH SHIIIIIIT._

* * *

The Cove turned out to actually be called "the Cove", a gated community of summerhouses by the coast. Two security guards patrolled the area, making sure no riff-raff got in. Since Daria recognised one of those guards as Steve, it seemed the Cove had already failed there.

Once the car was parked, everyone under the age of forty leapt out in a bid to escape any lingering presence of Carpenters. Daria turned to Tom and said: "Please tell me that was the last of it."

"It is, but you may be in for a lot of Glenn Miller if Great-Aunt Mildred hogs the radio." Tom sighed. "I really hope you brought your own CD player with you and a lot of books, because otherwise you'll be forced to talk to people and _nothing else_. We're effectively in quarantine here."

"I came prepared to avoid that. I brought the Internet with me."

Tom was horrified. "Oh _no_. Laptop with wifi?"

"…the next words better not be a combination of wifi, no, there, is, and here."

"This is primarily a resort for _old _rich people who want to get away from things. Dial-up is considered a bit too much here."

"Okay. Stuck with human contact then. On a scale of one to Lawndale High, how annoyed am I going to be by your relatives?"

"Lawndale High _pep rally._"

_Where's that flare gun?_

* * *

Jodie was meant to be observing Erin at work. Erin was finding it harder than normal to do her work though, as she had to position her seat so Jodie was _always _in her line of sight and never in a blind spot. Jodie scowled like a hardcore Communist who'd won a trip to Wall Street.

"So… do you want to see an example of a press release?"

Silence.

"Okay. Would you…" Erin thought of any task she could set that wouldn't involve the girl having access to her computer, work profile, or stuff. "…like to go to lunch early?"

"Yes."

"Excellent! I'll stay here until-"

"Good."

_That went better than I expected. She didn't set me on fire or anything._

* * *

Great Aunt Mildred von Trier (nee Sloane) was old, but how old was hard to tell: a combination of slight surgeries and hair dye made her look both in her fifties and like someone in their eighties trying to look in their fifties. Add in a 50s classical dress and skirt in sunshine colours and designer glasses, style horribly offset by an _entire mouth _of gold fillings. She smiled as she approached, and Daria forced herself to look away from the mouth.

"Kay, Angier! And how's my favourite grand-niece and grand-nephew?"

"Not here by the look of things, so you'll have to settle for us," said Tom.

She laughed. "And this must be Daria!" Mildred looked at Daria and the happiness in her eyes was slowly replaced by confusion. "I say, is that really the fashion these days?"

"I hope not or I've been living a lie."

Mildred's confusion was replaced with greater confusion.

"No, it's just my favourite ensemble. I don't really follow fashion."

"Better start, dear, if you want to keep your man happy!" Mildred laughed again, and Daria _sensed_Tom wincing. "I hear you're a Morgendorffer – the Georgia Morgendorffers or the Prussia Morgendorffers?"

"Er… Dad _visited _Georgia once if that helps. But Atlanta won't let Underground Railrock play their Eff The South concerts there anymore, so he refuses to go on principle."

Mildred laughed once more, choosing to believe Daria was joking. "What school was he at? I may know some of his old tutors…"

"Middleton College, Buxton Ridge Military Academy, and General Custer Memorial Elementary."

Mildred's laugh died in her throat. She bravely carried on, asking about Daria's mother and was excited to hear of Helen's family pedigree. Until the dreaded phrase "Middleton College" came up again.

"Your… your parents must have done really well in their companies then!" she rallied. "What sort of turnover are they looking at?"

Daria had gone from feeling embarrassed to being pissed off and decided to spread the love around with: "Well, they can't afford to hire any staff but themselves, but Mum's handling the Lawndale County Hell's Angels vs. Baltimore County Hell's Angels civil case and Dad's got a consultant gig with the Chug & Jugs chain."

The conversation had been killed, and so had the mood, the light in Mildred's eyes, and some ants (Angier had trodden on them). Everyone waited for everyone else to say something.

"Anyone mind if I put a CD on when we get inside?" asked Angier.

* * *

Buzzdome's staff ran on a diet of crisps, energy drinks, candy, coffee beans, and Frosted Flakes. A lone piece of fruit sat sadly in the back of the canteen cupboard, until Jodie had pity and decided to eat it.

"Brought your own food in?" asked coder Xiangdong, eyeing the fruit while he eat a bowl of Oreos. "I keep meaning to do that myself but…"

"It just doesn't _feel_right to work in IT if you don't eat crap," said Nora, a fellow coder, as she threw coffee beans into her mouth and washed them down with Red Bull to emphasise her point.

"Exactly. But don't let us put you off, er…"

"Jodie. I'm actually more interested in the corporate side of things." _No I'm goddamn not, thanks a bundle Mum._"It's only three days a week, I've also got Congressman Sachs, Force for Families First, and babysitting."

"That's a busy workload."

_OH HELL YES IT IS._ "It's not so bad." _It's better than last year._

Nora frowned. "Force for Families First… wasn't that the one that claimed Alvin and the Chipmunks was encouraging pre-teen promiscuity."

_Yes._"I'm not too sure."

"So you're at, let me guess, Lawndale High?" asked Xiangdong.

"I was, I'm transferring to Grove Hills."

"Wow! Congratulations, I hear that's a hard place to get into. Pretty intense too, isn't it?"

_Five people had nervous breakdowns last year and had to be committed. But it's not Lawndale High, so…_"Oh yes, very much so."

"How're you enjoying working with Erin?"

_It's interesting._ "That BITCH-" _crap I got it the wrong way round! _"Er… I mean…"

* * *

"I have the strange feeling one of us isn't considered good enough for the other," Daria told Tom, once she was sure the Carpenters crooning was covering them up.

"Yeah, I'm just not suitable. Still, it could worse-"

_"ANGIE! AUNT MILLY!" _boomed a stranger's voice, and Tom winced ("now it's worse"). The voice belonged to an early 40s man who had heard the term 'fat cat' and taken the first half to heart. He'd clearly lived a life well lived, especially when it come to gluttony, hair dye, and finding the most tasteless tasteful jewellery ever. "And young master Tommy! I hear you've finally escaped Pleb High!"

"Hello Uncle Michael," said Tom, his voice as lifeless as a tax collector.

Michael Sloane looked at Daria. "I didn't know Aunt Milly had a new servant."

"This is my girlfriend Daria," said Tom, voice as cold as a tax collector's personal life.

"HA! That's a good one, you've always been a funny lad. ANGIE! Finally got your son to the proper school then?"

Before Daria and Tom could flee to safer pastures (like Somalia), a striking and severe-faced blonde woman of Michael's age came in, dressed to the nines and carrying coats. Until she dumped the coats on Daria, saying in a Swedish accent "we've left the suitcases outside, our bedroom's the one on the-"

"Daria's my girlfriend, Aunt Sibylla," said Tom, voice as tired as a tax collector who wished he'd gone with his childhood dream of driving a train.

"Please Tom, it was a long drive, keep the jokes for later."

Daria dropped the coats and prepared to storm out, only for her path to be blocked by a frazzled blonde woman of Erin's age and her husband, who was of _Angier's _age. She tried, and failed, not to stare. This was hard as the woman had highly-expensive, immaculately fitting clothes of the latest fashion that were covered in snot and baby sick.

"Oh, thank god – please take him and clean him up a bit, can you?"

Before Daria could complain, a blanket was thrust into her hands. The blanket contained a baby. A very ugly baby with tiny dark pits for eyes that stared into her soul, a down turned mouth, and a load of mess around its whole _head_. It blew a raspberry at her, clearly detecting the stench of lower-middle-class on her.

"Tom. Help."

"Oh yeah, my cousin Shelly had a baby recently _oh GOD_," said Tom, staring at it.

The baby stared back and then spat something up. On to Daria. She silently handed the infant to Tom, who cringed at the sight of its slobbery smirk.

"Is your family _genetically programmed _to look down on me?"

"It does seem to be looking that way."

"I thought your family wanted to meet me. Turns out they wanted to meet someone else with my name."

"Daria-"

"_Ha ha!_" laughed another new arrival, Tom's age and blond and dressed like the preppiest preppy that ever prepped. "You'll be _earning_that pay ton-"

"Daria is my _girlfriend_, Tristan, _not _the cleaning lady," spat Tom.

His cousin blinked, looked at Daria, and then laughed again before leaving.

"If it makes you feel any better, last year the cleaning lady putting itching powder in Tristan's pyjamas," said Tom. "I was her lookout."

"She set her sights too low."

The ugly baby decided to fart in Daria's direction – Daria assumed it had decided because it looked rather smug about the fact. As she sighed, she could hear Michael Sloane guffawing about something that sounded very unfunny indeed; Angier Sloane casually walked over.

"Daria, did your dad give you any punk CDs to take here?"

"I take the fifth."

"Can I borrow one please?" he pleaded.

* * *

Jodie was between Erin and the door. To go to the bathroom, she'd have to walk past _leaving her back turned_. No, bad idea. Hmmm. Maybe if she waited for _Jodie _to go pee first…

Erin had been waiting like this, in total silence, for ten minutes now.

"Why did you have an affair with a married man?" Jodie asked suddenly.

"Because he asked and my fiancé was crap," she said before she could think of better wording.

"My dad says you came onto him and tempted him."

"What's his cover story for the kinky sex?"

"It was just the once." Jodie looked on as Erin struggled not to laugh. "I see. So he asked, and you agreed because your fiancé was 'crap'."

"I was desperate. He knew I was. And he knew that I wasn't going to seriously challenge him." Erin's voice had become lower, her eyes shadowed.

"So your version is that my dad is such a bastard that he deliberately went for an employee that he sensed was weak and desperate. That's what you're telling me."

"And that he was into kinky sex."

"And that he was into kinky sex." Jodie stared into Erin's eyes, then looked down. "I was really hoping your version wouldn't fit the known facts."

"You already knew he was into-"

"The _other _parts, I meant." Jodie stood up and began to walk out. "I've got to go."

Erin blinked. "But you still have an hour to go," was the only thing she could think of to say.

"I won't squeal if you don't."

* * *

Daria had intended to hide in her room, preferably with Tom, but to her horror she realised she'd be sharing a room.

With _Elsie_.

Who, once she saw the duo enter, grinned savagely and started playing Lady Gaga on her CD player. Tom and Daria retreated to _his _room – which, it turned out, had to be shared with Tristan. Who was raising what he thought was a salacious eyebrow. Out of options, they went outside.

"I'd like to say a few words in defence of my family but I can't."

"Hey, why should I hog all the fun of embarrassing relatives?" Daria kicked the sand, imagining it was Elsie and Tristan's faces. "And you come here every August?"

"We want to pretend we like each other. Anyway, my grandparents are turning up later and I'm sure _they'll _like you."

"You are not."

"No."

* * *

The grandparents Sloane turned up, prim and austere and wrinkly, and they too thought Daria was the cleaning lady until Mildred had a quiet word with them. Then they stared in shock. (Daria waved back)

Grandfather Sloane sought out Angier and in dry, cultured tones told him: "I've seen that girl you're letting Tom court, and Mildred has informed me of her… background, such as it is."

Angier wilted under his father's glare. "Ah…"

"You've let the family down, you've let your son down, but worst of all, you've let yourself down."

Meanwhile, Mildred and Grandma Sloane had combined forces to "coincidentally" go outside for a chat, right where they could see Tom and ensure That Girl wasn't trying to lure him into anything sordid. The teenagers gave up and went back inside, right on time for Shelly to yell "Alasdair needs his diaper changed, where'd the cleaning lady go?".

* * *

Dinner was, at least, interesting in an anthropological sense. Daria could see Angier turn into a ten year old before her very eyes when the grandparents Sloane asked about the firm, eagerly talking about earnings and contracts and growth and lookit me I'm doing well LOOKIT ME. Michael Sloane would then _immediately_ jump in with "my firm's doing even better than that, pay attention to ME, damn it, I'M MORE IMPORTANT" (he did not quite phrase it like that), and Shelly's unnamed, far-too-old husband stared with interest and said "wow, I'm VERY interested, please accept me people with money and influence!" (he did not quite phrase it like that). Tristan, Tom, and Elsie were amazing, they continued to eat and look as if they were paying attention despite, and their eyes made this perfectly clear, _not_ paying attention at _all _because it didn't concern them. That took years of training.

(Daria had similar training but only when it came to discussions about sell-outs, keeping it real, and fucking The Man. She had no defence against earnings reports.)

Sibylla and Kay continued their own conversation elsewhere, all bright smiles and happy voices and sentences like "I didn't know that was back in fashion" and "so glad to hear you can get your children into Fielding now" that hid big, sharp knives in people's backs. Daria assumed Shelly would have gotten involved too if she hadn't been distracted by baby Alasdair screaming his head off because… well, he was a baby, god knew why.

When the servant came in to clear the starter plates, Daria looked at her, nodded slightly to the Sloanes, and raised a "WTF?" eyebrow. The servant shrugged in response.

The boredom continued on during the main course, as Michael boasted about how good a job everyone at his company was doing so he could steal credit from them (he did not quite phrase it like that).

"…and some would say I should share some of the success but come on, if you pay them _too_much they'll stop being hungry and start slacking off!" said the massive-bonus earning fat man. "And so I said to the union pleb-"

"Daria, you're using the wrong fork," cut in Grandmother Sloane.

Everyone fell silent and turned to look at her (_including the baby _which was almost impressive). She looked down at the fork. It was slightly smaller than another fork.

"I'm experimenting. I want to see if it can still be used in eating the main course. So far, my hypothesis is proving correct."

Everyone _stayed _silent and looking at her, and Grandmother Sloane looked quite affronted. Finally, she said: "I suppose I should not expect you to be aware of these things."

"We are a primitive bunch in Lawndale."

That didn't seem to have gone down well either. Grandfather Sloane turned to Angier: "Angier, are you going to allow such indiscipline?"

"Daria, don't be rude at dinner," mumbled Angier.

_But that's_ all _I do at dinnertime._

"Grandmother, could you please pass the salt?" asked Elsie, sucking up.

"Tell me," asked Grandfather Sloane, eyes boring into Daria, "how long _did _Tom have to spend courting you? I imagine you were aware of his wealth beforehand."

"These roast potatoes are _excellent!_" said Kay, loudly and desperately. "You really should give the cook a raise, Mildred-"

"Raise? Was _no one _listening to a word I said?" asked Michael (Daria tried not to smirk when she saw Tom mouth "no").

The patriarch, however, was not one to be deterred: "What was it that drew you to the boy?"

_Oh crap._ Daria ran through a list of potential lies, but Grandfather Sloane looked like he'd tear through four miles of silver lining to find a trace of cloud. Her only way out of this was to tell the truth, but that was a way _in_ to the next circle of Hell. Her eyes flickered over to Tom; Tristan and Elsie noticed and, without any communication whatsoever, both collaborated to lean forward and block Tom from her line of sight. _Oh CRAP._

"He made a well-timed joke about giving chlamydia and swine flu to his ex girlfriend," she said.

Grandmother Sloane had taken the wrong moment _indeed_ to take a drink. As she coughed it back up, Michael Sloane pointed an accusing finger at Daria: "_SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE!_"

"That is certainly not an appropriate joke to make at the dinner table," said Husband Whatsisname, looking to brown-nose.

"Do you _allow _this girl to slander one of your offspring like this?" thundered Grandfather Sloane, his beady gaze switching back to the trembling Angier.

Tom sighed and raised his hand for attention. "I really did make that joke."

Grandmother Sloane automatically tried to spit-take even though she hadn't drunk anything that time. Everyone else stared at Tom, then at each other, then at the floor.

"It was really funny," mumbled Daria.

There would have been a grim silence, but baby Alasdair ruined it by making flatulent tongue-sticking-out noises.

"And how've _you _been doing at school, Elsie dear?" asked Mildred.

* * *

When everyone went to bed, Angier jammed in headphones and cranked up the borrowed Fear CD.

"Ein zwei drei! Gonna strangle me a bitch, gonna leave her in a ditch!" he muttered under his breath, only to turn and say "metaphorical bitch, honey" when he saw Kay looking at him oddly.

* * *

Daria lay in bed, bitter and annoyed and _oh god would Elsie ever stop snoring._It sounded like Godzilla with a snotty nose. It was bad enough that she had to, once again, put up with people who thought there was something wrong with her because she wasn't like them, but this was insult to injury.

The snoring actually got _worse_. Suspicious, Daria said "they're starting to realise I'm only dating Tom for his money-"

The snoring stopped.

"Gotcha. Now care to explain why you're deliberately trying to make it hard for me to sleep?"

"No," replied Elsie.

* * *

"So, Tom…"

"So, Tristan."

"How easy is that girl?" Then: "OW!"

"Sorry, my foot slipped."

"_You crossed the room!_"

"It was a big slip."

* * *

The next morning, after hours of trying to sleep through snoring and the baby crying, Daria lurched awake and was glad to find Tom sitting alone. She joined him for breakfast, mumbling "brains".

"Well, you came to the wrong place."

"I know what to expect now. I'm naturalised. I hope."

"You know, the beach is quite nice. We could go for a walk, just the two of u-"

"_Daria!_" bellowed Mildred, as if she'd not heard a word and wasn't desperately intervening. "How about joining us for a game of bridge?"

"_TOM!_" echoed Uncle Michael. "How about joining-"

"Yeah, I heard it the first time."

_Lucky escape there! _thought Mildred.

* * *

Erin looked at Jodie. Jodie looked at Erin. Both waited for the other to talk. Silence stretched out, taut and tense.

Or it did until Erin farted. "Uncle Jake was trying his fried curry again," she said by way of apology.

"I have a baby brother. It's nothing I haven't experienced before."

"So, um, now the ice has been broken-"

"I keep thinking that if I transfer to Grove Hills from Lawndale, I'm running away," said Jodie. "That's because that _is_ why I wanted to transfer. I'd be far away from everyone who knew what happened and around people who thought like me, I'd be in a _safe _place."

"Um."

"Yeah, I know, but I need to talk to _someone _who knows everything but doesn't have a stake in things."

_What's Grove Hills? _thought Erin.

* * *

"One Club," said Grandmother Sloane.

Daria looked over her cards again: she had a strong suit of hearts, several high-scoring cards. Now she wouldn't know what cards her partner Sibylla had, so she'd be careful with her suit.

"One Heart."

Mildred, one of the opposing team, shrugged. "No bid."

_If I have this right, Sibylla should have a good hand of something or other and will either back my hand or put forward another suit that-_

"Two Clubs."

"Three Clubs," said Grandmother Sloane.

_Wait, what? _"Three Hearts."

"No bid."

"Four Clubs," said Sibylla.

"No bid."

"Four Hearts!" snapped Daria. Then she realised that she did _not_have a good enough hand to go for that, certainly not as a beginner. It was almost like Sibylla was deliberately trying to sabotage her own team-mate to help the matriarch.

When Sibylla laid her cards down, the 'dummy' of the offensive team who didn't play, and those cards had all of two clubs, Daria felt the urge to slit someone else's wrists.

* * *

"One Diamond-" began Tom.

"Now don't rush into things, Tom," said Grandfather Sloane. "Take another look and be _sure_that's what you want to do."

Tom duly did. "One Diamond."

"Now, now, don't be stubborn, young Tom," said Uncle Michael. "This is a game that requires thought-"

"One. Diamond."

"Once you've made a decision, there's no going back," warned cousin Shelly's husband Creepy McOlderguy (Tom thought that was it).

"One _Spade._" _I have_ one_ spade, you bastards, prepare to suffer._

Grandfather Sloane, Tom's partner, turned out to have a _lot_of spades, and that meant Tom was in the game with the 'dummy' hanging over his shoulder, offering "suggestions" for every single move. (They lost. His grandfather chose not to think about the implications of this)

"It's a shame your father is not involved. Where is he?"

* * *

_Stran-gu-la-tion!_thought Angier in tune, bobbing his head up and down in his room.

"Can I borrow that after you?" asked Kay.

* * *

"Oh, hard _luck_, Daria," said Grandmother Sloane after the _tenth _straight win.

"Fun as is this is, we've been playing for an hour and…"

"Have you got something else you were intending to do?" Beady ancient eyes beaded into her. "Stuff in _private?_"

_God damn it._"I'd like to read a book."

"Gracious me!" exclaimed Mildred. "That would hardly be appropriate, it's very unsociable."

_Aaaaarrrrrrrggggggg._

* * *

Jane smirked the instant she saw Daria was calling her: "Yo, amiga! How's the hobnobbing?"

"I am hiding in the toilet to make this call and get out of another round of Bridge. _Everyone_ assumes I'm after Tom for his money. _Everyone. _Even the baby."

"Oh."

"I don't blame them. Of course they think people would only marry a Sloane for the wealth. It'd never be for their personalities."

"How bad is it, exactly?" asked Jane, slowly, as if probing a rotten tooth to see if it'd come out.

Daria told her.

* * *

Killer Quinn had only just left the house to join the gang – they were going to mooch around sinisterly outside a church – when Jane ran over and grabbed her:

"QUINN! It's an emergency! Daria's in trouble and I need to get to her asap and I need a car and I don't have _time _for Trent to wake up!"

"What sort of trouble?"

"Rich people being snobby-"

Quinn's eyes hardened. "_Come with me._"

* * *

"WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO _ME_?" cried Eric Schrecter as his car drove itself away from his parking space, leaving a shattered driver-side window in its wake.

* * *

"FRESH FLESH SLINGING DOWN YOUR STREET!" roared Quinn along to the radio, which was playing too loud for human comfort inside the car. "FRESH FLESH WON'T YOU TASTE MY MEAT!"

Jane growled "driver's privilege", took out Quinn's CD, and slapped a replacement in. "Bounciiiing off of clouds… we were… Is there a love lost and found-"

"EWWWW! This is _wuss _music! I'm not putting up with this."

"Hrrr… _Fine_. But I don't think we're going to find a song that we _both _like."

* * *

"We coulda been anything that we wanted be!" chorused the girls. "_Clapclapclap!_But don't it make your heart glad – that we decided, a fact we take pride in – we became the best at being baaaaaad!"

* * *

"…and really, those girls just don't have any self respect, not if they can't wait until – I mean, _really_," said Mildred. "Back in our day-"

"Yes, we'd _never _have done anything before marriage," said Kay (who was totally lying and had). "But I think-"

"Yes, any such girl would be most unsuitable," said Mildred, casting not-so-subtle looks Daria's way.

"Well, some of them just aren't raised properly," said Grandmother Sloane, as above.

"Their parents were probably punks or something as teenagers," asked Elsie, the picture of innocence. "What do _you _think, Daria?"

_Daria tore off Elsie's face with her bare hands and then turned on everyone else until she was sitting on a bone-composed throne on top of a mountain of burning flesh-_

"Daria?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking about something," she said. "I've seen girls at school who were obsessed with dating, tried for a new boy every week. I think that's just lacking in respect."

"Oh, that's just not right," said Grandmother Sloane with distaste. "I don't know how you stomach such displays, Elsie."

Elsie shot a brief, murderous look at Daria, who smiled back. _Whirlwind, reap, the._

"And then there's those girls who make themselves available so they can get pregnant and _trap_a boy into marriage," continued the matriarch, once again looking suspiciously at Daria. "All for the money-"

Daria opened her mouth and said **FUCK THE MOTHERFUCKERS FUCK THE **and was bewildered to find she'd turned into an angry black guy until she realised the radio was playing.

Everyone else was in panic and flailing around and the baby was crying and Michael Sloane was screaming "What is this, is this urban music?" (clearly spelling urban with an "n"), and as it happened Tom sneaked over and grabbed Daria's arm.

"That'll keep them occupied for a while. I'd hoped I wouldn't have to use my secret weapon until tomorrow at the earliest, but needs must…"

"How long can ejecting a CD take them?"

"I superglued the tray shut."

Daria kissed him.

* * *

"Jane, slow down, there's some pigs!" Quinn wound the window down, stood up, and mooned the offending police car. "EAT IT FASCISTS!" She sat down again. "Okay, speed up again."

_Maybe I should've woken Trent up after all,_thought Jane.

* * *

"…and damn it, _damn it_, everyone I met was full of, of this utterly _petty_ brand of elitism, full of bitterness about their last schools and oh so eager to be able to be ugly and smug and get supported and nobody challenge them -" Jodie paused to breathe. "One boasted that they're around people they can about Ayn Rand with now but that's not all she was glad about, she was glad because everyone _agreed_ with objectivism and nobody's going to seriously _argue_ with them about it. And do I want to be like that? More and more, I think: 'my parents went on about it and the greatness of being driven by reason, and what did Dad do?' No, he just and they just like it because they can be assholes and justify it as 'enlightened self-interest', and how different is _that_ to things I criticise liberals for doing and I dunno what to _do _anymore."

Erin, sensing the end of the soliloquy, snapped out of her stupor and said: "Do your parents want you to go to… er, whatever that school was called?"

"Oh, do they want it," said Jodie. "They've been boasting about it for _weeks_ to all their friend and colleagues, Dad's happy to take credit for me even though he's _never _around and neither think 'hey, our daughter wants to go far away'-"

"So they'd be really upset and lose face in front of everyone if you decided to remain at Lawndale, right?"

Jodie thought about this and slowly, terribly, began to grin. "_Yes._"

"I did that twice with my mother's boyfriends," said Erin. "And at my wedding, which was satisfying until the horror kicked in and I had to try and get my mother to talk to me and realised I'd lost all my old friends and-" She cut off before her voice started to quiver. "But it was fun with the boyfriends!"

"Lose face," whispered Jodie, her eyes closed in rapture. "You're a great listener, Erin."

Erin, who had tuned out during the first five minutes, said: "Well, it goes with the job."

"Oh. I should probably do some actual intern stuff while I'm here, I guess."

"You're here to intern?"

* * *

The beach would have been romantic if not for the cold wind and the distant cry of **MOTHERFUCKERS **. Still, Daria would take what she could get. She let Tom wrap his arms around her stomach and leaned back into him.

"I was hoping we'd be doing more of this."

"Me too. Ah well, I _do _have other tricks up my sleeve."

In the distance, they heard a shotgun go off and the rap music cease.

"Two of them unable to be used now the radio's broken."

"Now they'll come looking for us." Daria sighed. "If they found us making out, how much worse would things become?"

"A lot."

"Would it be worth it to see the look on their faces?" She smirked. "And for other reasons too."

"Your ideas are intriguing and I want to subscribe to your news-" said Tom before Daria cut him off. They stayed like that for fifteen seconds before Mildred's horrified scream split the air.

Daria pulled away, smiling. "That was worth it."

"Nah, we need to do it again just to be _really _sure. For science."

"_Good _point…"

* * *

"It's time for another game of bridge," said Grandmother Sloane in the tones of Judge Dredd sentencing a puppy-rapist. "While the men are on a brisk walk _somewhere else._"

The baby, upwind of Daria, chose to emphasise this point by farting loudly.

_Still worth it, just about_, thought Daria. _Where are you when I need you, Jane?_

* * *

"Jane, I though the Cove was near, like, a beach," said Quinn, confused. "Where did all these farms come from?"

_"WE'RE NOT LOST!"_

* * *

"In these grim days, we need to keep our _standards_," barked Grandfather Sloane as he (slowly) led everyone on the walk down the beach.

"I quite agree," said Aunt Shelly's twice-her-age husband.

_Right, screw it. _"Just to double-check, cousin…" Tom racked his brains. "…I forget-"

"My name is-"

"-but do our standards include marrying women who are only half our age, the second-biggest sign of mid-life crisis after wearing a T-shirt saying 'I Have A Big Willy Honest?"

Angier _just _about turned his laugh into a cough when his father turned round.

"Don't be _rude_, Thomas," said his grandfather.

"Oh no, we wouldn't want to be rude. Except all those times we're openly calling someone a gold-digging slut, but looking down on people _is _what separates us from the animals."

"Angier, are you going to let your son act out in this way?"

"Tom, be respectful of your grandfather," mumbled Angier.

"Why?"

Angier paused a few too many seconds in thought.

* * *

"If I'm reading the GPS right," said Jane, "the most direct way to the right road is… right across those fields and these woods."

"It's not _our _car," pointed out Quinn.

"True…"

* * *

"Oh look," said Daria. "I lost again at the game I never played before today. I hope this doesn't harm your view of me."

"There's no need to make a fuss, dear," said Sibylla.

"Thanks for the colour advice, pot." (Nobody got the dig but they recognised it was one)

"Daria, if you want us to believe you're serious about Tom," said Grandmother Sloane, "then you should act with more décor-"

"What I want, I can't say at this table without ignoring decorum."

"I have _never _been spoken to in that-"

"You missed out."

* * *

"We're almost out of the woods!" Jane narrowly avoided another tree. "_Nothing _can stop us now!"

_"Girls just wanna have fu-un-"_

In her panic, she almost crashed the car. "_Damn it_, Quinn, don't go there!"

* * *

The family Sloane were _not_happy, except Elsie who was watching everything with a big grin. Tom and Daria finally got to stand together in the summer house, under the glares of angry old people.

"But are your chief weapons fear and surprise?" Tom asked them all.

"Thomas, you're on thin ice already-"

"I thought I'd fallen right through it and was catching hypothermia now, but hey. What do you think, beloved welfare-scum sexually wanton girlfriend?"

"Oh definitely, my cynically-entrapped meal ticket," said Daria.

"I KNEW IT!" yelled Mildred, unfamiliar with snark.

"_Well_," growled Grandfather Sloane. "This is clearly something that is having a negative influence on Thomas. I think we can all agree-"

"Father, _I_ think you're overreacting to this," said Kay wearily. "Her sense of humour is bizarre but she's still a well-behaved, intelligent girl. For god's sake, does she _really _seem like she's going to get pregnant anytime soon?"

Everyone turned slowly to look at her (including the baby, who seemed affronted).

"Angier, are you going to let your wife act in this manner?"

Angier thought about this for a few seconds. "Yes," he said.

If the grandparents Sloane's jaws had dropped any lower, they'd have fallen off.

* * *

The dented, stained form of Schrecter's stolen car finally reached the Cove, but one final, immovable obstacle was on its way.

"Hey Steve," called out Quinn.

"Hey." He stood between the car and the Cove, shaking his head. "Sorry, Killer, Jane, but my whole job here is to _stop _people like you coming in."

"We'll give you a beer if you let us in."

He thought this over. "It'd have to be a six-pack job really."

"We could just call Daria on her phone," said Jane.

"But I wanna scare all the rich people!" grumped Quinn. "And smash a few windows!"

"I'm phoning Daria."

* * *

"Aha." Daria lowered her phone. "Er, my sister and friend have turned up to take me ho-"

Angier snapped his head round, his eyes hungry. "What was that, Daria? Your sister, _a secretary at the firm_, has told you there's some _urgent _issues that I need to look into?"

"...yes?"

"Oh _dear_! Sorry Mildred, Dad, everyone, looks like I've got to go! It may be a _lengthy_problem to sort out too, I'm afraid I'll need Kay along too – oh, and best take Tom and Elsie, show them what they might have to deal with-"

"Daria's sister doesn't-" began Elsie, before she was cut off by Angier bellowing "WE BETTER PACK NOW AND QUICKLY GOODBYE".

As Tom's parents (and Tom) rushed to the bedrooms, Grandfather Sloane scowled at Daria. Apparently, a problem at the firm must be Daria's fault too. She made sure to give him a big, toothy grin. (The baby started crying)

* * *

Daria got into the wrecked car with Tom in tow; Jane looked at him quizzically and he said: "My parents _insisted _I ride with Daria."

"Huh huh huh," said Jane.

"This has _never _happened on any visit to the Cove," he told Daria. "I think your family has been having an influence on mine."

Angier drove past, singing "STRAAANG-U-LA-SHUN!" out the window as he went.

"And on that bombshell, I'd like to apologise for my family being… uh, what's the word-"

"Cunts," offered Quinn.

"Thanks, Quinn."

"Shut up, posh boy."

"Well, I suppose it's flattering to know I'm considered such a threat," said Daria. "Though, um… when they first started… okay, never mind, I shouldn't have expected you to risk alienating half your family from the start-"

Tom blinked, took a deep breath, said "excuse me a second", and stepped out the car & walked back into the Cove.

Half a minute later, there was an enraged roar and then Tom came running back and leapt into the car. "PUNCH IT!"

Jane hit the accelerator, while Daria asked "what did you _do?_".

"I said I'd prefer they do not make such accusations about you again," said Tom. "Aaaaand I might have expressed the opinion that one or two of them have sexual relations with horses."

"Tom, that's the most romantic thing you've done since you punched that Evan guy in the face." She meant it. "But you've just burnt bridges with half your relations…"

Nobody spoke for a few seconds, then _everyone_said "so no downside" in unison and high-fived.

THE END

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: What Daria's doing in her fanfic is what fic writers have done with Daria herself (but not all in the same fic).

Johnny "Rotten" Lyndon really did like disco.

The Buzzdome crew are all from the episode Sappy Anniversary; apart from Mildred's name, Tom's family are all original to this fic.

Angier's new favourite song (and Quinn's) are both by punk band Fear, Jane is quoting Tori Amos, and the song that both Quinn and Jane can like is Bad Guys from _Bugsy Malone_. Thanks to Brian Taylor for the suggestion of Angier trying out Strangulation.


	27. Live Fast Die Old

GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM  
Ep 27: Live Fast Die Old

There was no life or joy on this day, for this was the day Lawndale High started a new school year – and worse, started with an assembly with Principal O'Neill so students new and old could feel inspired and together and to cut a long story short, Quinn had brought a boombox in so she (and forty five other students in radius) couldn't hear the speech.

"…and when we look at all we've been given in this nation of ours, all the freedoms we have as people to express ourselves and _learn_ about ourselves, to come together and actualise each other's potentials… do we not think, 'maybe I should give something _back_'?"

"…AND I GOT MINE!" answered the boombox.

"And _that_," said O'Neill as if he hadn't heard, "is why I've started Lawndale High's very first Annual Awareness of Others Week! Each student will sign up for a variety of activities to help the community, to help _others_… and be _aware _of them as a result."

"THE LAW DON'T MEAN SHIT IF YOU GOT THE RIGHT FRIENDS THAT'S HOW THE NATION'S RUN"

"So who do you think is making the better argument here, Sid or O'Neill?" Jane asked Daria.

"We should take a bipartisan view of this and come up with a compromise," said Daria. "We help others unless we have the right friends, then we don't have to. Unfortunately, you and I have exactly two friends each."

There was a brief pause. Daria sighed.

"You just waited for Tom to speak too, huh?"

"It had become a habit," said Jane. "I'm just feeling a bit embarrassed though, whereas you…"

"Are you suggesting I have the emotional capacity to miss someone? Because that's fighting talk." Daria paused again, and winced at the realisation. "This is _stupid_. He's just transferred to another school, we're seeing each other after school is _over_. Stupid oxytocin, making me stupid."

"I will pretend I got that."

"I had a dream about his first day of Fielding. He was surrounded by impossibly attractive girls wearing very little clothing and walking sacks of money and The Man took him to the roof and promised all of this could be his if he'd renounce me and worship only Mammon. At some point, I'm going to get over my baseless paranoia that Tom's going to dump me for being the 'wrong sort', but I'm not sure if this will be before or after the South rises again."

"Hmm. Now you've got me wondering what he _is _doing at Fielding right now. Rich school, plenty of strange customs, supporting casts we've never seen – must be exciting…"

* * *

"Blah blah blah hard work blah blah expectations blah blah excellence blah blah prove knowledge," droned the principal to the assembled students.

"I am proving my knowledge," muttered Tom, eyes glazing, to his friend Pat. "I'm showing I know how to sleep standing up."

Pat was silent for a few seconds, then: "sorry Pope, I was miles away there."

* * *

On the way to class, Daria gave the volunteer sign-up sheets a look – they covered a wall, with a photo next to it of happy models of various ethnic groups and ages holding hands; "Awareness of Others" had a smiley face for the O. O'Neill was really _trying_, which must mean something was going to go horribly wrong.

"Remember when Li made the whole school do things for really corrupt, petty reasons? Those were golden days, my friend."

Jane snorted. "Come on, Daria. Embrace the new dawn. Embrace the chance to get out of the house for a week and away from your family."

"People should volunteer for things because they _believe _in them, not be forced into things by social engineering dictat. And since I don't believe in anything, I guess I'll have to sit on my butt."

Jane was about to speak when she caught sight of something: "They need someone for an arts and crafts class at the children's ward of the hospital. We're the first ones here…"

Daria considered this. Specifically, she considered that the reactions of the hospital staff to _anything_ Jane taught the kids would be really, _really _funny.

"What the heck. Sign me up."

* * *

The Maleficent Eleven rumbled up the sign-up sheets after second period, and recoiled in disgust at the sight of _words_.

"Man, this'll take ages!" said a distraught Spike.

"Yeah, my eyes hurt _already!_"

"Is there anything cool, you think?"

"No, dipshit, if it was cool they wouldn't have to get people to volunteer, would they? People would do it willingly and stuff."

Quinn held up her hand for calm, looked over the problem, realised she couldn't headbutt it, and started to think. She remembered the blank spaces where were you had to write your own name. That was a useful starting point. Work from that…

"That one has _blank spaces!_" she yelled, pointing at the nearest sheet. "Write on that and we don't have to think!"

The gang cheered and wrote away, their euphoria damaged when Burnout asked "uhhhh, what did I write on again?".

"Reading With Seniors," said Quinn, looking at it. "Awwww _crap! _Reading? Sorry, guys, I fucked this one up."

"It was a mistake anyone could make, Killer," said Andrea.

* * *

The Fashion Club had a crisis, one Sandi would never have expected: with Elsie Sloane gone, _they couldn't find a new fourth member_. She'd even bothered asking _Brooke_ – and Brooke had, like, said _no_. The natural order of things was unordered.

This had to be rectified.

"All right," said Sandi, fixing Stacy and Tiffany with a dominating glare. "We are going to volunteer. We are going to collect clothes for the homeless. We'll show that we're really _good_ with clothes. And then _everyone_ will think _we're _cool again and not Cindy. Any questions?"

"We're not giving them _our _old clothes, are we?" asked Tiffany, a look of horror on her face.

"Tt. Don't be ridiculous. Who'd do _that_? They're, like, _ours_."

* * *

"So Cin, what do you want to do?" asked Cindy's friend Kristen, boredly glancing at the boring list with boredom. "We can do something that sucks, something that sucks, or, for a change, something that _really _sucks."

Cindy squinted at the list. "Does that one say cleaning up roadkill?"

"Huh. Something that mega-sucks. That's a change."

"I'm going to do the roadkill."

Kristen stared at her, tried to think of an appropriate response. "Ewwwww!" was that response.

"It's an experiment. Guys keep following me around these days, so I want to test how far that goes."

When she checked the list again at lunchtime, the roadkill job had so many applicants that they'd run out of blank spaces and were drawing on the wall itself. Cindy looked on it like Hitler after learning a British song-writer knew he had one testicle.

"Kristen? I'm scared."

* * *

"Oooh, Kevvy, we do finger-painting with kiddies and – ohhhh. _Daria and Jane _are doing that."

"Aww man! Is there anything _else _left that's cool?"

"In-tern-ship with state se-na-tor…"

Kevin racked his brains. "Lawndale State has its own senator? _Cool! _He might give us tips on what classes we should take when we graduate! Let's sign up!"

When Tom met up with Jane and Daria at Dega Street, he was dripping paint and soapy water and yet, despite that, had a happy expression.

"You know I told you about the initiation rites at Fielding? Well, this happened." His smile got bigger. "You should see what they did to _Elsie…_"

"It's nice to know you're having fun."

Jane interrupted the conversation by emerging from a shop with a trolley filled with paints and bits of clothing and bones and car parts and a mannequin's severed head, and a manic look in her eyes. "I NEED MORE BONES oh hey Tom."

Tom looked at the trolley with alarm. "They're going to let you bring all that into a children's ward?"

"We're gonna cover it with a blanket and pretend it's boring stuff."

"And I worked out a way to sneak it in the back if that doesn't work," said Daria. "You want to tag along when we start?"

"If I get the time off homework." Tom grimaced. "Boy, they sure like homework at Fielding. They like it so much the Republicans should complain it undermines family values."

"Maybe I should get a taxidermy kit…" wondered Jane.

* * *

Better Days Nursing Home was eerily nice-looking, _too _happy and normal. And it had a really creepy name that, if something horrible was happening, would sound ironic. Quinn had watched some of Aunt Amy's movie collection and everything about this place screamed serial killers or aliens or ghosts or serial aliens that were ghosts would attack. Could you headbutt serial alien ghosts? She wasn't sure.

"Huh huh huh, better days," guffawed Butt-head II nee Shane. "They were better days cos, like, they weren't _old _then."

Shaggy blinked. "Heyyy… that sounds kinda douchey! The Man is, like, picking on old people!"

The gang looked at each other, realising the truth of his words. Quinn's lips peeled back to reveal a snarl of teeth.

"Koichi, Andrea: got spray paint?"

"Always!"

"_Let's go to fucking work._"

It was a few minutes later before a nurse came out, screaming "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" at the sight of the nursing home's sign disappearing under a mass of graffiti. (It was now called the Hardcore Motherfuckers Hangout) Before she could reach them, Quinn intercepted her:

"YOU! Did you come up with that sign? I bet you fucking did! Well you can _tell_ your fatcat Nazi bosses to stop messing with old people unless he wants a _petrol bomb enema GOT IT?_"

"PLEASE DON'T KILL MEEEEEE!" cried the uncomprehending, terrified woman.

"Oh yeah, we're also here to read stuff," called out Dave.

Upon hearing those words, the nurse fainted. Quinn shrugged, dropped her, and said "I guess that means we go in."

* * *

Screams and cries to run were heard when they went in.

The nurse looked down at Jane's trolley. "Auto parts?"

"They're not just making art, they'll be learning a trade!"

"I'm _watching _you."

There were fourteen kids in the playroom, ranging from four to twelve, some with plaster casts and some pale with drips and two that had no visible problems (which unnerved Daria the most). One had almost no hair, and she knew what _that _meant.

"I think I'm the _last_ person this lot should be exposed to, _ever_," she said.

Some of the kids snickered.

"The low-rent Angel of Death here is Daria, and I'm Jane. And we're going to ease you into the art world by seeing what can you do with _this_ pile of junk and some superglue! Now just remember not to glue yourself _to _the junk, though I guess if you do you're in the right place."

An eight-year-old boy raised his hand. "Can we break some of the stuff too?"

"Yes. Yes you can."

The kids rushed for the engines.

* * *

The old people had doddered for it but there were eleven enemies and locked doors, there was no escape. They huddled together for safety, gazing in fear at these rank and dark _things _that were growling at them.

"YOU'RE BIG!" yelled Dave, reading out a comic to a frightened man. "THAT MEANS YOU HAVE HUGE GUTS! And cool, then he totally rips those guts out."

"…and Jean Perrier moved his tongue and mouth down," read out Jackie Wentworth, "sending tingles as he reached her c-"

"Trent Lane's dark brand of moody self-absorption…" Spike threw the music magazine away. "Fuck that shit, who wants to read big words? Hey, how about we read this bike mag? It's got hooters in it."

"Its voice, unlike that of its companion, was light and breathy-the voice of an excited girl," said Andrea in a sinister whisper, not noticing an old lady pressing the security button. "Every inch of its head had been tattooed with an intricate grid, and at every intersection of horizontal and vertical axes a jewelled pin driven through to the bone. Its tongue was similarly decorated.

"-and so Barbar the e-le-phant founded the e-le-phant city," said Burnout, concentrating furiously.

"_Yes it's an emergency requiring tactical units!_" shrieked head orderly Onishima down the phone. "_Send in SWAT! Send in the tanks! GET THESE PUNKS!_"

* * *

Cindy moved her prongs to pick up some more roadkill, when Skylar and Joey ran over, each clamouring "I'll pick it up for you!", "I've got it!", "no me me", "I'll do it with my _hands!_".

That last bit caused Cindy and Skylar to stare at Joey, who said "I mean… er…".

"RARRRR I AM ZOMBIE-COON, DEVOURER OF-" Mohammed stopping waving the raccoon corpse around when he noticed Cindy could see him now. "Josh told me to!"

Unnoticed at the far end of the road, Kristen gritted her teeth as she picked up her own damn corpses and put them in her own damn bag by her own damn self.

In Senator McManus' office, Kevin looked over the piles of paperwork and wondered which he was supposed to shred and which he was supposed to send to the press. There had to be some clue. Hmmm…

_Hey, that's marked press release, so that must've come_ from _the press. I'm so smart. But not, like, brain smart._

* * *

Three of the boys smirked up at Jane and Daria as if to say oh yeah, we just made a giant metal penis out of the auto-parts. Because they had.

"Now if you're going to that, we need to let the girls make a giant metal vagina," said Jane. "Fair's fair."

They hadn't expected that. They looked at each other, unsure if they should be giggling that someone had said the word "vagina".

"You know you want to," said Daria, the deadest deadpan she could muster. "Go on. One little huh huh huh."

"I made Wolverine's claws!" cried out a happy five year old who'd tied metal bits to his arm. "Lookit lookit!"

"This is a great job," said Jane.

"Ms Jane, I superglued myself to the trolley…"

* * *

"So, _Sta_cy, now we know the price of the clearance items at Cashman's and JJ Jeeters, in comparison to our budget we can afford…"

Stacy went through the figures. "Enough clothes for two and half people."

Sandi wasn't sure but she thought there were more homeless people than that in the county. "Insufficient. We need more. But how…?"

"Maybe we could, um, go door to door asking people to donate clothes-"

"_Stacy Rowe!_ I cannot _buh-leeve_ you'd let _amateurs_ get involved! Haven't the homeless suffered _enough?_"

"Sorry!"

* * *

Timothy O'Neill had felt, deep down, that something would go wrong. He'd even wondered if he should make an exemption about volunteering for Quinn's… friends and for Kevin, but that would be quite unfair and bigoted of him. He was sure they were trying their best, anyway.

Sadly and probably through no fault of their own, the gang's "best" meant he was called out by the Maryland State Police to meet their SWAT team at Better Days Nursing Home.

When he got there, Dave, Andrea and Quinn were trying to start a fight with the nearest SWAT officers, Jackie had gotten bored and was snogging Koichi because he was there, and Jennifer Burns appeared to be asking a SWAT officer "uhhh, you don't look like an old guy".

"Mr O'Neill," growled the SWAT commander, his tinted-red shades making him look angrier than he sounded. "These punks-" He paused, reconsidered his words. "These _assholes_, that's better, they say you _told _them to come here for voluntary work."

"I, er, yes, well- aheheheh… It's our Awareness of Others Week, and I thought it would be beneficial for both the young _and _old if students were to spend some time with the elderly, reading to them so they could-"

"Fuck were you _thinking_, man? After what they did, we're gonna need to charge these freaks and have them do… community service… such as… working with old- _SHIT_."

"Idea!" said O'Neill, smiling desperately. "Why don't they _continue_ to read to work as a gesture of apology, but… um… with a _teensy _presence from the local law to reassure people?"

"That's the stupidest idea I've heard since that one about having them read to old people." He thought it through again. "But on the other hand, that'd count as overtime…"

* * *

And on the second day, Jane brought them sewing kits, needles, bits of paper, and an illustrated guide to voodoo.

"Now you've got the art bug, time to see if you – yes, _you!_– can make a voodoo doll of whichever member of the hospital staff you like the least!" She took out a voodoo doll with green cloth and little glasses drawn on the head. "Daria's going to show you how it works. You make the doll resemble someone, then you add something of theirs – hair, a fingernail, cloth in this case – and then-"

Daria watched the doll get poked, then raised an arm. "Ow."

"It's safe, it's fun, it's voodoo!"

The kids stared with interest, while the watching nurse ran like hell to get help.

* * *

The county council roadwork's man looked at the sparkling clean road with amazement. "I… I think you cleared up _all the roadkill in the one day._ Uh… I, erm, I got nothing else for you to do unless you want to clear up roadkill on some _other _roads-"

"I'll do that for you, Cindy!"

"I'll do it more!"

"I _love _clearing up roadkill!"

"Roadkill RULES!"

"I'll go run some animals over just to clean them up!"

"I'm going mad, Kristen," muttered Cindy.

* * *

Into the valley of death rode the twenty-two, or at least stomped the twenty-two: eleven delinquents, eleven SWAT men with guns aimed at their backs. Quinn defiantly belched in the face of her guard.

"Would anyone like to be read to?" asked an orderly, causing the old people in earshot to cower and shriek denials.

Not giving up, the orderly frogmarched Quinn into an old woman's room, announcing: "Mrs Blaine? Quinn here is going to read to you. If she tries anything, the policeman here will fire a headshot."

"Fucking police state," mumbled Quinn, sitting next to the vaguely happy looking old woman. "Right, yeah, hi. I had to borrow a book from my sister so if it sucks, it's her fault. It's called Rage though and has a photo of some dude with a gun, so I guess it'll be bitchin'."

Mrs Blaine nodded slightly.

"Brutal. Okay: 'The morning I got it on was nice…'"

* * *

"Whoooaaaa," said Brittany, bending down to get a pencil, "it's a real shame your back's all messed up and you can't bend over when you keep dropping things, Mr Senator!"

"Yeeeessss…"

* * *

When Tom finally got to the hospital with Pat, he could see Jane in a fierce argument with the staff – "You know, if they _all_ make voodoo dolls of the same nurse, maybe that should tell _you _something!" – and then a dozen kids stomping, stabbing, and otherwise mutilating dolls. Daria stood in the middle, smiling faintly.

"We're making a difference in their lives," she said.

"What sort of a difference?"

"Haven't figured that out yet. I see you brought Pat."

"When Pope told me what was going on, I _had_ to see it for myself," said Pat grandly. "It's… it's _inspiring_. Young Jane Lane has such _passion_…"

Tom groaned. "So, Daria, please change the subject before Jane enters the roo- oh, too late."

"'More appropriate art, please'!" mimed Jane in a whiny fake voice. "Oh, just you wait… Oh hey there."

"Jane!" cried out Pat. "Your work here is _incredible_, such-"

"Pat's on the rebound," said Tom.

"Really? Cool," said Jane. "I'm free now."

_That was surprisingly easy, _thought Pat as he was led out by the arm. (The kids noticed this display of affection and went "ewwwww!")

"I give them two weeks," said Daria,

"Three."

"Ten bucks says you're on."

"Done. Since we've both been dumped, moonlight stroll in High Hills Park to see if we spot any Satanists _this _time?"

"Hell yes."

* * *

The SWAT man had run out of the room to vomit halfway through the book, but Quinn hadn't noticed.

"'…I have to turn off the light now. Good night.'" Quinn shut the book, and looked at it with concern. "Huh. I… I don't think I wanna piss Daria off again, no."

Mrs Blaine nodded slightly.

Quinn looked out the window and jumped. "HOLY SHIT WHEN DID IT BECOME NIGHT"

Mrs Blaine nodded slightly.

"Why didn't anyone tell me, where's everyone else gone? Oh shit they've locked me in they're going to turn me _into an old person I WON'T BACK DOWN TO YOU, MAN-_"

Quinn ran and tried to kick down the locked door (which wasn't locked) and ran out to escape. Then she ran back in, physically _lifted_ Mrs Blaine by her chair, and ran out yelling "I'M TAKING YOU WITH ME WE'RE BUSTING OUT!".

It didn't take Quinn long to realise that carrying an old person in a chair gave you sore arms; luckily, a spare wheelchair was in the corner of a room to "borrow". She plonked Blaine in, lifted it slightly up so it was doing a wheelie, and then ran fast going "VRRRROOOOOMMMMMMMMM!".

Mrs Blaine nodded slightly.

* * *

Daria and Tom lay on the bench together, her head in his lap, looking up at the stars. Well, at the cloud where stars would otherwise be seen.

"What are you thinking right now?" he asked softly.

"How do we _know _it's Satanists that hang out here at night? It could be Mormons."

Tom thought about that. "Damn. That's going to bug me all night now."

"I was also thinking: aren't your legs going to get numb from me doing this?"

"They kinda went numb a minute ago, but I didn't want to spoil the mood."

"Awww."

* * *

"Kristen, where do you think all that roadkill _goes_?" asked Cindy as the two of them went to Burger World.

* * *

Ahead was that greatest of obstacles, a _door_: unless Quinn wanted to use Mrs Blaine as a battering ram, she was going to have to _slow down_ to open the door first. Quinn considered this, sped up, _turned _the wheelchair a full 180 at the last moment so she was in front, went into the door in a flying dropkick, and was knocked unconscious because the door was locked.

* * *

Alarms wailed into the night as the masked figure fled from the looted JJ Jeeters, his arms laden with clothes. Out of sight of the mall security cameras, he handed them over to the waiting Fashion Club.

"Thank you Mr Edwards, we'll, like, try to do the really boring questions in English from now on," said Sandi (who never said they _would _do them).

"Oh, I don't need payment, Sandi. Just the knowledge that I helped out dear, sweet Tiffany with a problem is enough." He clasped Tiffany's hands in his own, and whispered: "Any problem, any issue, you can come to m-" and then he fell to the ground because Stacy had elbow-striked his spine.

"Uhhh… Why did you doooo thaaaat?"

"I-I'm not sure. I just felt I _should_."

* * *

Tom and Daria had switched places, his head on her lap – she'd been nervous suggesting it, tense when he'd started, but claimed it was "reciprocation".

"Legs numb yet?" he asked.

"Nope. Um… You better stay there until they are."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

Quinn looked up as the terrified form of her English teacher was thrown into the cell. "Oh man, _fuck off_, I told you I _had _a valid reason for not doing that homework!"

"I-I-I'm innocent, I swear, it's all a misunderstanding, I was going for a walk and just happened to be knocked out by the _real _criminals…" He then burst into tears.

"Oh. I stole an old person."

* * *

As Tom and Daria made out, five figures with black robes and sinister appliances stalked past. And then stopped.

"Hey, come on, this park is for _everyone_," said the lead Satanist. "Show some consideration."

The teenagers slowly pulled apart and looked at the figures. Tom squinted hard and said: "Hello, Mr Blakewell."

"…hello, Tom," said a rather embarrassed Satanist. "I hope you completed your quant homework before you came out tonight."

"Aren't those the screws the Egyptians used to pull brains out of mummies?" Daria asked the leader.

"Yeah, we got this consultant guy Jake to see if we could spruce up our image, and he said this would make us look _much _more intimidating than our old gardening tools."

* * *

The next morning, three things happened:

a) Helen Morgendorffer took a call during breakfast, snarled in irritation, and stormed out saying "Quinn needs bailing out again, she better have done something cool"

b) State Senator Alex McManus looked at the front page of the Lawndale Sun-Herald and screamed and screamed.

c) Principal O'Neill took three phone calls and then left the phone off the hook so he could cry in the corner of his office.

And a bunch of other people woke up and went to the toilet and ate breakfast, usually in that order.

* * *

With no time to get a substitute and with all the on-contract security guards being there anyway, Steve found himself roped into doing the English, Language Arts, and Dramatic Horizons classes. He looked at the class, flipped through the book Edwards had set (which just so happened to be Edwards' own book), scowled.

"This book sucks. Anyone mind if we read Dubliners instead?"

Everybody but a handful of students came out of English having no idea what they'd just read, but since that was the norm nobody commented.

* * *

They were out of the police station when Helen finally said: _"You stole an old person?"_

"Well I couldn't leave her _behind!_"

Helen considered this. "Quinn, I'm going to buy you an ice cream."

* * *

Jane had loaded up the trolley with paint and illustrated guides to the Mongol hordes, and cheerfully whistled as she entered the hospital. Daria trailed along, scowling slightly.

"What's up with you, amiga? You're grumpier than normal and that's darn grumpy."

"The police are holding onto my book as evidence. That'll teach me to lend Quinn things."

"Well, cheer up, you can help me improve the children's ward murals."

"Will you let me do decapitations?"

"Hell no, that's reserved for the younger kids."

* * *

"So, er…" Spike shrugged. "What do we do now we're banned from ever going to Better Days even when we're old?"

"I hear that Cindy girl's picking up roadkill."

"…we're _there!_" said Quinn.

* * *

"You're with the _Democrats_, aren't you Kevin?" hissed McManus as he cornered the boy. "You're one of _theirs_."

"Uhhhhh… okay."

"I spent _months_ trying to bury the last scandal, and then _you_ send the papers _every goddamn memo and printout _about the Pan-Am Oil negotiations-"

"Oh. Sorry."

"Sorry? _SORRY?_ Last time I'll _ever _work with your school again, even if the other intern was a great piece of ass-"

There were other words but Kevin's mind focused on the 'ass' part. Brittany was the other intern, right? Oh yeah, she _did_have a great ass!

"Yeah, Britt's hot! She's the head cheerleader!"

"…_what? _Haven't you been listening to A WORD I SAID?"

"Uh…" _What's something a senator would talk about?_"You… deny the allegories?"

An eye twitched in McManus's face and everything went red-

* * *

Ken Edwards looked up as Kevin was shoved into the jail cell, a few bruises on his face but otherwise happy.

"Dude! I totally beat the Senator, that means _I'm _the Senator now, right?"

* * *

O'Neill had been called in to Superintendent Pascal's office again, this time with on-call lawyer "Foggy" Murdoch in tow. Murdoch shouldn't be mixing ulcer pills with vodka, O'Neill was pretty certain about that, but decided not to pry.

"I'm _very_ unhappy," growled Pascal. "You proposed this week without _any _consent from me-"

"Um, Mr Pascal, I _did _okay it with you first, and even-"

"There's no physical evidence of that whatsoever," he said (the office shredder stood proudly in the corner). "I have the _State Police and Senate_ involved now, screaming blood and thunder and wanting vengeance. This has not _gone _well. We're shutting the Awareness Week down ASAP, and as for legal avenues…"

"Try for mitigation by arguing youthful enthusiasm," said Murdoch, taking a swig. "That's your best bet. For Edwards, focus on lack of evidence. In the McManus case, Mr Thompson claims quote he started it unquote. We'll need to subpoena the office cameras. And maybe leak it to the press to damage the man's case."

"Ooohhh, isn't that rather underhanded?"

"Do it," ordered Pascal. "As for _you_, O'Neill: there better be one _really good _outcome of this debacle, or someone's getting fired…" When O'Neill's reaction wasn't adequate, he added: "You're that someone."

* * *

"All right, kids: we're out of roadkill in Lawndale. Get on those buses, you're going to _Oakwood!_"

* * *

"And so it's with great sorrow that I have to, ah, end the Awareness of Others Week early-" O'Neill paused the assembly until the ragged cheers had died down. "But it's not all doom and gloom! No, we've received a special commendation from the Lawndale County government for the _amazing _work done cleaning up the county's roads, and we've got a special Lawndale High Abnormal Achievement award for Cindy Brolsma for organising it! Come on up, Cindy!"

Sandi stared in fury. "_Damn it! _Beaten again! And what the hell are we supposed to do with all those clothes?"

"Keeeep themmm?"

"Good point, Tiffany dear, and well made."

* * *

Edwards finally returned to class, and stared in horror to see Steve standing there, reading from the wrong book and saying "okay, so what does Ivy Day imply about Irish politics of the time and Joyce's views?"

"_What are you doing?_" screamed Edwards.

Jeffy, misunderstanding the situation, raised his hand and said: "He's teaching us stuff, sir!"

* * *

That evening, Daria answered the door to see the entire SWAT team of the Maryland State Police.

"Hmm. Jehovah's Witnesses are getting pushy these days."

"We've been ordered to escort Quinn Morgendorffer to the Better Days Nursing Home and then protect the other residents from her."

"…this is a trick, isn't it."

"I wish to God it was, missy, but Esme Blaine has actually _requested _your sister come back on a regular basis. She said it was the most fun she's had in years."

"Dear God."

"Oh yeah, we got a book for you – I should warn you that if there's _ever_a shooting at your school, we'll assume you're involved."

"That's fair."

* * *

"You're doing a good job," O'Neill told his reflection. "You're a great and caring principal. People respect you. You're doing a good job…"

* * *

And on the roads around Better Days Nursing Home, a wheelchair could be seen speeding along, an old woman with a red Mohawk in the front, and a young girl making WW2 fighter-plane sounds ("NEEEOOOWWWN PTPTPTTPTPT") running it around.

THE END

NEXT TIME: "Let's just say he's the St Patrick's Day leprechaun and I'm Cupid."

NO, REALLY.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: High Hills appears in The Daria Diaries, where she says/jokes that there's Satanists worshipping there.

Daria's book is the infamous Rage by Stephen King (writing as Richard Bachman), taken out of print by King after real-life school shooters were found to have read it. Andrea is reading Clive Barker's The Hellbound Heart.

Pat Seven, as ever, is borrowed from The Hallowed Halls Of Fielding by the writing-god Roentgen nee Cincgreen.


	28. Punk Takes A Holiday

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Ep 28: Punk Takes A Holiday**

"Last month, we took you to the world's biggest Nativity scene… in _August!_ But did mall manager Gifford Jones' cynical manipulation of the Christmas spirit earn him the big bucks? You bet your _butt_it did! Gold, Business Sense, and 'Murican Way, a Sick, Sad World investigative special!"

Daria stared at Jane's TV. "Could they make the holidays even more vulgar?"

"Sure," said Jane. "In fact, I bet if we wrote a list of ways it could be done, stores would _pay _us for it."

"Sometimes I wonder if you're too cynical, even for me. Now get me a pen."

* * *

They'd ended up with thirty five ways, and Daria had drafted a pitch for Jane to post to various retailers. She'd made sure to mention it was going to various retailers in the pitch; "we need a bidding war". But this wasn't entirely mercenary: if the holidays became more and more devalued, people would be less and less willing to celebrate them, and then the family would be spared Jake Morgendorffer's Thanksgiving Punk-kin Pie.

As she walked home, she thought about something that had absolutely no relevance to the plot whatsoever, nor to what was about to happen. So I'm not going to bother telling you it.

"Not another step, lassie!"

Daria paused and looked at the speaker: a short guy wearing a lurid green leprechaun costume (he even had the bowler hat), who had an Irish accent as spoken by an American who'd never been to Ireland. Beside him stood a laidback fat guy in a toga with a heart-adorned toy gun.

Daria looked again at the speaker. He was _still _a short guy wearing a lurid green leprechaun costume, alongside a laidback fat guy in a toga with a heart-adorned toy gun.

_These hidden camera pranks are getting lamer and lamer._

"We need to speak to you, miss," said I-Am-Irish-Honest.

"It's cool," said Fat Guy, who sounded like Trent's friend Jesse after his balls dropped _further_. "We come in peace."

"And you are…?" _Come on, give me something to work with..._

"Sorry, can't tell you. We're on a secret mission."

"For now, let's just say he's the St. Patrick's Day leprechaun and I'm Cupid."

_Right into my hands._"Excellent. I've been expecting you."

The two pranksters almost jumped backwards. "Y-You've _what?_"

"For now, let's just say I'm International Pizza Day. Do you have the St Swithen's Gift?"

'Paddy' and 'Cupid' looked at each other, greatly confused, then back at her. "Damn it! We weren't told there was another agent – wait, who sent you?" Horror dawned. "Oh no, you're not… No, no, the Presidents can't have known, they _can't_-"

_Huh. This guy's good. _"Don't worry, comrade, the President remains unaware. That's as much as I can say in the open. We'll continue this discussion at Safe Zone Romeo-Juliet, walls have ears."

"Okay, cool, we'll look that up on Google Maps," said 'Cupid'.

Daria looked around suspiciously, drew her coat over her face, and stalked off. _I gotta call Jane, she'll love this._

* * *

"We need to speak to you, miss."

"It's cool. We come in peace."

"Oh, is this a Lawndale Pride fundraiser?" asked Jane. "Cool! Hey, can we all dress up like that? I've been wanting to find the right way to come out as a man in a woman's body, and-"

"Wait, lass, I think you-"

"-and this would just work _great!_I'll bring all my friends, when are you marching?"

"Uhhhhh…"

"I mean, that _is_it, right? You're not filming a show or something, right? C-C-Cos if whu-what I just said was on TV and e-e-e-veryone could… WAAAAAAAAAA"

The two guys looked at each other and slowly inched away.

_Heh heh. Now who am I gonna call…_

* * *

"I can't believe this, _six_ people and they're _all_ weirdoes! Didja see that last dude's _eye?_ Where the feck did we end up, man? _Where the feck?_"

"Stay cool, dude," said Cupid, patting his friend on the back. "Stay cool. I'm sure this chick will work out."

"Ahem! Hold it right there, lassie!" called out Paddy to the blonde. "We need to speak to you about a secret mission-"

"Yeah, he's St Patrick's Day and I'm Cupid-"

"Will you stop telling everyone who we really are?"

The blonde didn't seem to react in a strange way, so they felt safe to carry on.

"We have reason to believe that Christmas, Halloween, Bonfire Night, and Talk Like A Pirate Day have left Holiday Island and come here to Lawndale to start up a band. They came here through a wormhole at the back of a Chinese restaurant and if we don't get them back soon, the very fabric of your mortal realm will start to _unravel! _Will you help us, miss?"

Burnout Girl stared at them for a long time, and then took a look at her last spliff. Silently, she dropped it to the floor and walked off.

"I think we're gonna have to work with Pizza Day after all, dude."

"Ah come on! 'Safe Zone, not at liberty'… Bloody poseur. I bet she's working for that bastard Independence Day, that's the sort of flash he'd get up to…" Paddy scowled. "_We_ mooch at a bus stop for our Ops Centre, and you know what? I'm _proud! _We're on the edge, man!"

"I dunno, I bet the Safe Zone doesn't smell like cat pee."

"I don't think it was a cat, man," said Paddy, defeated.

* * *

Daria opened the front door to see the prank guys were there. Their producer must've liked it. She'd have to remember to ask for some money afterwards…

"St Patrick's, Cupid. Google Maps was satisfactory?"

"Nah, it didn't have anything," said Cupid. "But we knocked on some doors and asked if anyone knew the weird chick with glasses and everyone pointed us over here."

"_Idiot! _You've almost certainly blown my cover, now the President's men are going to be keeping an eye out! The mission's almost certainly blown."

"Well if _you_ would have just _worked_ with us instead of playing your own agenda-!" roared St Patrick, acting like he was genuinely furious (_these guys are wasted on this show_). "I should've expected this from Independence, everything just has to be about _him_, doesn't it?"

"Hey! Independence pulled off the Cinco de Mayo and Bastille Day ops in his time, who are _you_to criticise?"

"Jaysis, he gave Cinco a wedgie _one _time, and he blows that out of all proportion!"

Daria blinked. "Ummm… Sorry to break character this late, but I think you're getting your scenario's confused here. Weren't we doing secret agents just now?"

There was an awkward silence before Cupid said, "Oh, right, sorry" and then, his brow furrowed with concentration, "Independence is… exaggerating his prowess after… uh… merely _underwear-based incapacitating _Cinco. How's that?"

Daria's confusion was interrupted by Helen calling out "Daria, honey, who's at the-" before she reached the door and saw for herself. "Oh god. _SNAKE! IT'S FUCKING MISSIONARIES AGAIN! REALLY WEIRD ONES!_"

_"I'M GETTING THE BOTTLE, DEAR!"_

St Patrick and Cupid weren't sure what that meant, but it sounded pretty painful. Reacting fast – well, average pace – Cupid raised the Love Gun and the instant Jake had appeared at the door with weapon in hand, he opened fire. Both punks were hit and, contrary to _all laws of physics _as Daria knew them, fucking glowing hearts began to emit from her parent's heads.

"…oh god," she whispered. "H-How.."

"Ohhh, Snakey…" said Helen in a husky voice. "The way you just take command... mmmmm…"

"Well, I got something worth getting angry _about_, Hellion…"

And to the horror of all concerned, they started to strip off right there and then on the doorstep.

"I… I thought I had this on _low _setting," muttered Cupid.

Daria, scared and confused and everything she'd ever known overthrown, turned to the two men – the two _holidays_. She was in the presence of actual supernatural beings. That… she… there was only one question it made sense to ask.

"If you're St Patrick's Day, why do you speak like an American putting on an Irish accent and not in an actual Irish accent?"

Paddy looked down at the floor, grief all over his face, and Cupid put a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"He's really sensitive about his diasporisation. It's okay, Pizza Day, you weren't to know."

_Screw it. I'm obviously having some kind of nervous breakdown. I'll just ride it out and see where it takes me, Zelda Fitzgerald-style._

* * *

With Daria's house out of limits until her parents calmed down – and that could be hours yet – they had to continue the discussion at Pizza King. Well, they could have done it somewhere else but she was hungry.

"All right, go through what you know from the beginning."

"Christmas, Halloween, Bonfire Night, and Talk Like A Pirate Day have fled from Holiday Island to Lawndale," said Paddy.

"Bonfire Night?"

"That fifth of November British dude," explained Cupid.

"_Bastard._" St Patrick's Day scowled moodily at the table. "He just left a _note_, a fecking note, not even have the decency to say he was leaving to my _face_. You know what that note said? Bollocks, that's what it said!"

"It was pretentious?" asked Daria.

"Nah, I mean every third word was 'bollocks'."

"I see." She didn't. "And they came here to…"

"They're trying to make it big with their band," said Cupid. "Kind of a hiphop-punk-electronica vibe. I'm not sure what that means but it _sounds _cool."

"You managed to get a fix on 'em yehself, Pizza Day? …on three of them, I don't care about Bonfire Night, I don't need him…"

"I'll check in with my contacts, see if they've got a lock yet," said Daria, who was amazed she'd kept a straight face throughout the whole conversation. "Hold position here, I'll contact you when I have something. Question though: it's possible they've _left _Lawndale-"

"Nah, they'll be here," said Cupid. "It's a feeling I've got. Something about Lawndale says to me that if something is going to happen, it'll happen _here_. It's like…" He struggled for the word. "…a _narrative_."

* * *

Daria had done the logical thing: she'd phoned up Tom and Jane, and set up a meeting at Jane's house so they could brainstorm. At least, it had _seemed_ logical until she realised she was telling her best friend and boyfriend that she was working for holidays to round up some other holidays who were forming a holiday band of holidays holidays _oh CRAP._

"You didn't eat out of the old fridge when you were last here, did you?" asked Jane.

"I'm hallucinating, Jane, not dead."

"That's… huh." Tom scratched his head. "Have to tell you, Daria, I'd normally go along with this but I've got a _really _big batch of homework, can you try the prank again tomorrow?"

"I can prove this is true. Go to my house, you'll see my parents having sex right on the front doorstep-"

"Yeah, that's not really abnormal for them," pointed out Tom.

The conversation was interrupted as Trent lurched into the room, humming to himself. Jane gave Daria an evil smirk and then called out: "Hey Trent! Daria was wondering if you'd heard of any new hiphop-punk-electronica bands in Lawndale and if they included Christmas, Halloween, Guy Fawkes Day-"

"Bonfire Night," corrected Trent.

"-fine, _Bonfire Night_, and Talk Like A Pirate Day."

"Yeah. They're coming round to jam."

Jane would have snarked at that except at that _very moment_, as if they'd waited for the most dramatically convenient moment, four strangers came in: a blond dudebro in red-and-white shirt, baseball cap, and jeans; a Goth with a formidable corset; a punk (but these days in Lawndale that could have been anyone); and a guy in full-on pirate costume.

"Yo," they said (also "ahoy!").

"Huh." Tom blinked. "I guess Daria's telling the truth. She's far too lazy to put _this _much effort into a prank."

"Rude but true," said Daria, eyeing the newcomers. "I think I can tell which is which. Christmas-"

"The handle's _X_," said the blond guy, striking a pose. "That's short for-"

"Xmas."

"Wasn't gonna say Xmas," said X, looking a bit put out. "That's rude, man, assuming things."

"What _were _you going to say?"

"…"

"We're done here." Daria turned to Trent. "Trent, how long have you been hanging out with _supernatural manifestations of the seasons _and why didn't it occur to you to tell someone?"

"Met 'em at McGrundy's during open mike night."

"It was bollocks," said Bonfire Night. "The bastard crowd just wasn't _with it_ enough for us! They just wanted easy-listening bollocks! _Bollocks!_" he added for emphasis.

"They seemed pretty cool. I introduced them to the Spiral sound-"

"We downloaded his MP3s without payin'!" said Talk Like A Pirate Day.

"Whoa, that's _not _cool. Hmmm. Anyway, I figured your parents would have mentioned it. Your dad's consulting for them and all."

"…_what?_"

"Isn't he supposed to _be _here now?" asked Halloween.

"Ah, he said he couldn't leave the house and would have to teleconference. Hang on a second…"

As Trent dialled up Jake and set the phone on speaker, Daria grabbed Jane & Tom and hissed _"upstairs, now!" _but alas, she was too slow and was still in earshot when the call went through.

"Oh hey AAAAA so is the band all GAH OH HELLION here because we've HRRR-" and some other noises as well, but they were soon drowned out by Daria puking up mightily on the floor.

* * *

"Quinn!" snapped Daria down the phone. "Did _you _know supernatural entities were hiring Dad?"

"Well _gawd_ Daria, don't you _pay_attention during breakfast? He mentioned the Holidays four fucking times this week."

She thought back over the last week. She remembered hearing _something_ over breakfast, but she'd long ago developed the skill of not hearing a single blessed thing her family said in the morning. "And it didn't bother _anyone _that impossible beings had come to Lawndale?"

"You're such a square," sneered back Quinn. "Wait, are they with you now?" Her voice became breathless and husky. "Is... is Bonfire Night there?"

"Yes-"

A punk-cover version of a squee emitted from the phone, and Quinn hung up. Then she called Daria to ask where she was. Then squeed again. Daria shrugged and called down the stairs: "Quinn's coming round!"

"OH BOLLOCKS!" came the terrified response.

Bonfire Night was saved by the teleconference – Quinn entered the house, heard two seconds of it, shrieked "EWWWWWW!", and fled to the bathroom. Lo, there came a puking.

"Maybe we should _sample _that," suggested Halloween.

* * *

The conference had gone well, and the Holidays had a list of suggestions and potential strategies ("say bollocks more, especially in interviews"). It was now safe for the teens to emerge, and thus not safe for Bonfire Night who'd been unable to escape in time and was being stared at hungrily by Quinn. She kept making… gestures.

"Now we got our business plan sorted, we just need to work on the important stuff," said Halloween.

"Arrr, that be true – which one of us scurvy dogs _is _gettin' the centre position on the CD cover?"

The four holidays glared at each other, neither going to give an inch.

"Actually," said Daria, "the most important issue right now is you're wanted on Holiday Island."

"…dude! Snitches get _stitches!_" said an offended X.

"Come on, man, Daria's cool," said Trent,

"She doesn't _look _cool," said Halloween.

"Hmmm. You got me there."

"Bollocks to you, bitch, we ain't goin' back there! Holiday Island is…"

"Bollocks," suggested Tom.

"Right!"

"Mmmm, yeah, _bollocks…_" said Quinn in a husky voice, disturbing everyone in earshot.

"What's so bad about Holiday Island?" asked Daria.

"Have you _ever_ been forced to spread peace and cheer and goodwill to all dudes _twenty-four seven?_" said X, before taking another look at Daria and saying "Okay, right, dumb question. But it's boll- it _sucks_, man!"

"And the whole place is full of _poseurs_" said Halloween, the woman in a orange-and-black corset with skull and pumpkin decorations around her midriff.

"Arrr, I'd rather be _keelhauled _than spend five more minutes with that bilge rat April Fools!"

The holidays all shuddered as one at the sound of that name.

"Fair enough," said Daria. "What do I care if my hallucinations don't want to go to hallucination hell? As long as this isn't a sign of a brain tumour, I'm happy."

"_This dream is a rumour, I'm getting a tumour…_Be right back," said Trent, sloping off for his notebook.

"All right, time for International Pizza Day to go compile her report-"

X stared. "Internat- Whoa, I _thought_ you looked familiar! _Ewwww_, we've been talking to a loser!"

"I knew you weren't cool!" spat Halloween.

"I think we better ditch the 'make holidays more vulgar' plan," Jane told Daria. "It's like having a plan to make Upchuck sleazy."

* * *

"…and that's just _half_ of the list of fashion violations you're causing," Sandi told St Patrick's Day and Cupid, who looked like they wanted to kill themselves (or, more probably, her). "_Sta_cy? Give them the AFBO."

Stacy handed over the Anti-Fashionable Behaviour Order, with the holiday's given names added. "This copy is for you, and we'll be keeping another for our own records."

"We'll be checking on you."

The Fashion Club walked out as Daria, Tom, and Jane walked in; Stacy wordlessly handed them more AFBOs.

"Paddy, Cupid. These are my local agents. We've got the fugitives."

"Excellent!"

"But they've made it clear they don't want to return to Holiday Island. And frankly, if that's their decision, I intend to abide by it."

The two looked at her as if she'd offered the Nobel Peace Prize to Colonel Gaddafi.

"B-b-but… Oh _Jaysis_, you're cracked, lass! If we don't get them back to Holiday Island, there'll _never again_ be a Christmas, Halloween, Bonfire Night, and Talk Like A Pirate Day! The effects will have already started!" He thrust an iPhone at her. "_Just look!_"

Daria took the phone and looked. The browser was on 4chan, where a user was asking "hey what _is_the deal with those weird masks anyway?" and another replied "I dunno".

"Huh. Okay, that's a… wait." Her eyes widened with horror. "Paddy, Cupid, forget _everything _I just said, we'll drag those suckers back."

"What? Anonymous can start wearing Spider-Man masks instead," said Jane.

"That's not it. The country – the _Earth_ – is still recovering, slowly and haltingly, from the great recession. If Halloween _and _Christmas both cease to happen this year, the impact on America's economy..."

Jane paled. "Oh _crap._"

"A crash like that would make everyone at Fielding become _middle class_," whispered Tom. "One in five students will kill themselves…"

"For the greater good," said Daria grimly, "we're going to have to _force_ the holidays to spend five more minutes with April Fools."

* * *

The holidays had the concept of the greater good explained to them. They considered it and responded "bollocks".

"All right," said Daria. "We tried reason. Now it's time for plan B." ("We had a plan?" asked Tom.)

"Oh no!" said X in mock-fear. "International Pizza Day's all _mad_! She might give us _anchovies _on our pizza, oh no!"

"She won't, will she?" asked Halloween, sounding genuinely worried.

Quinn stalked over, fixing her sister with a death glare. "Daria, you've sold out before and I've let it slide, but _this_ time, you wanna enact your Plan B, you better be ready for _pain!_"

"Oh, but sis, Plan B is to ensure you _always_ get to hang out with Bonfire Night." Daria paused for dramatic purposes. "_Wherever he goes._"

Quinn hugged her. "I LOVE YOU, SIS!"

"Bollocks, guys, I think she's serious…!"

"We can handle one wench, knave!" said Pirate Day.

"You what? Bollocks to that, you're not abandoning me to-"

"We _could _get a replacement for him," said Halloween, who then looked briefly at X and then away again – but not before he'd got the gesture.

"Hey, _hey!_ You can't replace me too! Maybe we should replace _you!_"

As the band fell apart into bickering, Daria smirked: "I thought about it logically. I thought 'could I get them into conflict with each other' and realised 'they're a band'. Tom, I need you to stay here and carry out a list of activities to make Lawndale _exceedingly_ unpleasant-" Pause. "_More _unpleasant for them. Jane, we're going to Holiday Island on a little intelligence gathering trip to make sure the holidays never come here again."

"Preventing further crises?"

"No, I just don't like these guys."

* * *

The wormhole behind Good Luck Chinese Restaurant turned out to be an _actual hole _in the wall. It led to, of all things, another Good Luck ("it's a chain") on a tropical island. Dead trees littered the place.

"So where are all the holidays?" Daria asked Cupid and St Patrick. "This place looks dead."

"Don't be daft, nobody goes to the beach in autumn," said Paddy. "Everyone's at the school."

Daria and Jane looked at each other. This sounded worrying. Then they saw they were walking towards a building that looked like a high school, and it became more worrying. Things crossed from "worrying" to "DEFCON One" when it turned out they had arrived at _a fucking high school_. Daria's mind swam with the sinister implications of such a thing, number one being 'am I sure I didn't die today and this isn't Hell?'. (The place looked like a repainted Lawndale High so the Hell theory seemed likely).

"Does this mean there are holiday colleges?" asked Jane.

"Pizza Day didn't fill you in on much, did she," said Paddy. "Nah, you're thinking of a high school. This only looks like one, it's actually much worse. _We're _immortals, we don't age – we never graduate."

Daria and Jane looked to each other, horror in their eyes as they realised what they were condemning the renegades to, and Daria began repeating "the greater good" like a mantra.

"It's not so bad," said Cupid. "We get Taco Friday in the cafeteria."

Extremely generic looking students were walking past them – Cupid explained "saint's days, who can keep track?".

"Said St Valentine's Day," said Daria.

"I got _commercialised_," he said proudly.

"What did you have _before_high schools existed on Earth?" asked Jane, trying to find a way to rationalise the Tenth Circle they'd uncovered. "And what do you learn here, anyway? And are the teachers also holidays or are they-"

The school shook slightly, the lights dimmed, a crack appeared in the wall; the ghost-like entities ran screaming. Paddy scowled at Daria. "Damn it, Pizza Day, tell your mortal friend to stop pointing out the implausibility of our existence!"

"Jane, stop it. We can do it plenty once we're back in Lawndale." She turned to Paddy. "Okay, I can see why they left-"

"We _all _want to leave. Fecking bastard, leaving me behind after he claimed he loved-"

Cupid patted him. "Let it go, man. It's his loss."

"I just want him _back_-" Paddy realised the girls were looking at him and coughed. "A-Anyway, your guy can work on getting them to _want_ to come back but the main problem is making sure the Presidents _let _them back in…"

"Hey, Pizza Day, I dunno what he's talking about here, can you explain the situation to me?" asked Jane, sounding oh-so-goddamn-innocent when she did so.

_I'll kill you._ "He's clearly referring to the holiday Presidents Day," she said, _hoping _that's what he referred to and equally hoping he'd join in the exposition.

"Yeah," said Paddy, disappointing her.

_Okay, think, Daria. You can work this out. You know about high schools. You've seen enough bad TV to know the obvious tropes._

"Well, the renegades… are clearly _popular_ holidays. And that means… the social scene is all… different now. And Presidents Day… has… got to the top of it… and… wants to stay there." _I almost hope that's wrong because of how_ lame _it sounds._

"It's a bad scene," said Cupid. "Everyone with middling popularity was so busy fighting it out, they left themselves wide open for the Presidents to divide and conquer. Once they had their gang – well, look:"

As if by narrative convenience, two teenage versions of Presidents Lincoln and Washington (who had _Lincoln's beard _despite being a teenager; Daria was almost impressed) were stalking down the hallways, backed up by three scowling thugs in differing army garbs. One Holiday, a terrified Mexican kid, tried to get his stuff from his locker and escape before they got there…

"Hey! Cinco de Mayo!" called out Lincoln, threatening. "You better have learnt the Pledge of Allegiance by now…!"

Based on Cinco's sudden flight, he hadn't.

"I cannot tell a lie, you're gonna get your ass kicked!" said Washington. "Victory Day, go give him a swirly!"

The Russian soldier ran off. The President's came nearer to Daria's group, giving them beady eyes and outstretched hands. Paddy and Cupid sighed, and began taking what Daria guessed was their lunch money out of their pockets (which confused her because where the heck did Cupid have _pockets?_)

"Aww yeah. By the people-"

"-_for _the Presidents!"

The group carried on, and Daria said: "Well, what do you expect from politicians."

* * *

The renegade holidays had fled the Lane's house after Tom had bet Trent that he couldn't play the opening chords to Come As You Are for a whole hour without any breaks. That was item _two _on Daria's list down, and item three was simple: find where Halloween had gone, take a photo of her, email it to Upchuck.

Upchuck appeared _fast_: "Well _hello _there, oh dark damsel of the night! I'll show you some of my tricks if you show me your treats…"

As a scream of "GET LOST!" split the air, Tom sent an anonymous text to the Fashion Club's Fashion Crisis Hotline, telling them where International Talk Like A Pirate Day was and that he had "omg a BEARD". He'd never know what hit him…

* * *

"If we don't neutralise Veterans, Victory and Anzac Days, any move we make will end in _severe _wedgies," said Paddy. "And if we don't get the old order back soon, we'll see other factions poppin' up to fight back and take power themselves and then everything will be in chaos – the Bank Holidays are already ganging up…"

"Alright, I might be able to sort this out," said Daria. "But first – you were _sent_ on this mission, weren't you? I want to know who _by_."

Paddy and Cupid looked at each other, nodded. They led her to a nearby room, knocked a secret knock on the door, and then led her and Jane in. "Ramadan? International Pizza Day wants to chat."

Ramadan was an Arab teenager in conservative garb, looking quite refined and pious, an image ruined by the fact he was currently wolfing down a _huge _burger and getting sauce everywhere. "Yo."

"Aren't you supposed to be fasting?" asked Daria.

"Yeah, I didn't feel like it. Not like anyone can see me."

"You _are _a religious holiday. Let's get down to business: first off, why do you need to send agents and not yourself?"

"Oh, the Presidents would _love _the chance to make sure I can't come back to Holiday Island. It's just not safe. Plus, I hear Lawndale's really crap and I didn't want to go there."

"That's fair enough. Anyway, I think I have an idea – the renegade holidays are egotistical jerks in a band. AKA, a band. They want attention. If there's some way they could have a gig _here…_"

"There's a prom on tonight, but there's a band already booked – that's what the last straw was for the guys, Easter Monday, Good Friday, and Ascension Sunday getting booked and not them. Losing to a gospel-rock band? That's just embarrassing."

"Have one of your agents neutralise them and create an 'opening'. Then everyone can pretend 'oh no, we need a new band, can anyone save us' and in comes the cavalry. Lots of ego and genital massaging. That's a metaphor, by the way, don't actually do that."

"I got a guy who might be able to do it. But we still need to get past-"

"Oh, I got a whole _bunch _of guys for that…"

* * *

Tom had finally got all the holidays in place and was profoundly apologising to all of them. "Let me make it up to you guys. I'll buy you all pizza, my treat."

"What's the catch?" asked X, suspicious.

"No catch, I really will. Ever been to Pizza Forest before? You'll like it."

They didn't like it. Two minutes into the squirrel's song of Row Row Row Your Boat, Bonfire Night ended up screaming "BOLLLOOOOOOCCKSSSSSSS!" in a lengthy howl.

Then he started to shake and headbutt the table, yelling "BOLLOCKS BOLLOCKS BOLLOCKS BOLLOCKS" over and over. The other holidays paled, Halloween saying "Oh no, he's having one of his fits again! _Someone set a fire, that calms him down!_"

* * *

"_Look_, Labour Day, it's kind of you to offer but we're not interested in smoking pot," said Easter Monday.

The school's laziest stoner was confused on a fundamental level by someone not being interested in pot, but he'd been coached on what to say: "_Cool _bands smoke pot."

The Easter holidays looked at each other. "He's got a point," said Ascension Sunday.

"Yeah, man, I want people to think I'm cool!"

Desperate for the adoration of strangers, they borrowed some of Labour Day's _own _stash. (Don't do that at home unless you live in a hospital) Labour Day watched his handiwork, remembered he was supposed to tell Ram and Pizza about this, decided he couldn't be bothered, and lay back to a snooze.

* * *

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO BURN DOWN THE WHOLE RESTAURANT!" roared Tom as the group fled from the police.

"We didn't mean to," said a petulant Pirate Day (who'd lost half of his beard to a forcible shaving from the fashion club).

"_I _did," said Halloween.

* * *

Eventually, Ramadan and Daria had to go check Labour had succeeded.

"They could be out for three days! Once word spreads, the Presidents will put their men between the school and the wormhole, and _then_…"

"Then, this:" Daria dialled a number. "Hey, Quinn. There's these guys at Holiday Island who said you and your gang were pussies." She hung up. "That's that."

* * *

"How come you all speak English when you've all got different national heritages?" Jane asked.

The school began to shake again.

"FECKING QUIT IT ALREADY!"

"Okay, okay, I will." _For a few minutes._

* * *

Tom finished his call with Daria and said to the holidays: "Hey guys, it turns out the band at Holiday High's prom can't make it and they need saving."

"…no," said X. "Did you – have you and that bitch been _deliberately _making Lawndale suck to make us go back?"

"Well, that kinda implies Lawndale doesn't suck as it is, but yeah. Is it working?"

"They never had Pizza Forest at Holiday Island," said Bonfire Night, all wistful.

* * *

The Maleficent Eleven had called up Death Rowe to fill out their numbers, as Burnout had headed away very fast (throwing spliffs away for some reason) when she'd been told about the holidays. Most of the gang were quite stunned to learn the existence of a bizarre parallel universe, but theological, scientific, and philosophical revelations didn't matter compared to _some strangers dissing them_.

"We're not pussies, THEY'RE pussies!" roared Dave, speaking for all of them.

Veterans, Victory, and Anzac Days were lounging outside the school entrance, deep in conversation – "No way did you score with her, man!" "Way!" – when they saw the incoming hooligans. They looked down, judged the odds, nodded to each other, and pulled out fucking eff-off great machine guns and fired away.

"_CHEAT!_" yelled Quinn as her gang ran like hell.

Daria stared at the window, and then turned to Ramadan: "They have _guns?_"

"They're not allowed them in school."

"You could have told me about this!"

"Come on, Pizza Day, what did you _think _they'd have?"

* * *

The gang trudged home through the wormhole, humiliated and beaten and in most cases having very soiled underwear.

"What's your sister _doing _there anyway?" Death Rowe asked Quinn.

"Oh, she's got this thing about saving the economy from Christmas failing." Quinn spat on the floor. "She's weird like that."

Death Rowe stiffened as she argued with herself about whether or not they should get further involved: the economy failing would be horrific. It could not stand. After a quick debate, she voted four to one (it had been three to two until Stacy realising economic disaster would impact on her clothes budget) to take action.

She made her excuses and then went to the nearest cache of paint canisters that Goggle-Eyes had left about town.

* * *

The thugs were back to their discussion – "and her tits are _massive!_" – when they saw Tom and the holidays coming up to the school. They sighed and went for their guns again, taking aim. Daria caught sight and had just enough time to scream out of a window for Tom to flee when-

When some_thing_streaked across the beach and Anzac Day's chest exploded into red.

"AAAARG OH BLOODY HELL IT'S-"

"It's _paint_, you stuAAAAARG THAT HURTS!"

Victory Day fired off a shot before a paintball _blasted_ the gun out of his hands – and then the masked figure was leaping up the school steps. He was grabbed and shoved stomach first onto the paintball gun, which fired pointblank into his guts ("OWWW _bleeeeeuuuurrrrgggg_").

Veterans Day charged and was kneecapped ("OW!"), falling face-first ("OW!").

Anzac Day stayed on his back, trying to edge backwards, whimpering. "N-No, d-don't-"

The figure shot him in the head.

("BY DOSE!")

Tom and the holidays stared in stunned surprise as the goggle-eyes girl walked back the way she came, nodding to them as she went. _"The way is clear."_

"Bollocks," whispered Bonfire Night.

* * *

"We're only doing this gig under protest," said Halloween, glaring at Daria and her fellows. "Once we're done, we're right out of here. We have _no _reason to stay."

Bonfire Night looked at St Patrick's Day with guilt.

"_Nothing _you can do can make us stay."

Then they went on stage and Ramadan, from the back of the crowd, started chanting "HOL-I-DAYS! HOL-I-DAYS!" (obvious and lazy, but in fairness the band _were _thinking of changing their name). The rest of the crowd, operating on herd instinct, assumed they should do this too, and on stage egos were massaged (but not genitals).

"HIT IT!" yelled Halloween.

_"So I'm a bleeding holiday, there's more to my life than that,"_ sung out Bonfire Night (badly) to the sudden noise. _"I say I got normal dreams, normal desires, want to drive a normal car with normal tires, yeah! I'm a teen holiday and it sucks! I'm a teen holiday and it sucks! I'm a teen holiday and it sucks!"_

Daria, Tom, and Jane listened and winced. "This is worse than that song Trent wrote about an irregular bowel movement he had," said Jane.

"Well, there is a _reason_the Easter dudes got picked over them," said Cupid.

* * *

Lincoln and Washington knew they were screwed: their muscle was MIA, and none of the Holidays were going to leave now they were attracting groupies. Their position was shot. The most sensible thing to do would be to find someplace to hide out until everything blew over.

They just had to get to the wormhole before-

A massive hand thumped down on both their shoulders. They looked up at the owner. And up. And up some more.

"Uh uh uh uh…"

"H-H-_Hi_, Grito de Dolores!"

"What's this I hear about you pickin' on my little brother?" growled the hulking, scarred figure of Mexico's independence day.

* * *

After the concert, Tom and Jane found Daria talking to… Daria?

"…so those guys will be thanking you and will say they owe you one, just pretend you know what they're on about," said Daria.

"So I'm going to become briefly popular," said the other Daria. "Damn. I'm getting punished for something I didn't do."

"Yeah, sorry about that. But you can get money out of them."

"Ah, a silver lining. For the next week, every order you make at Pizza King will have an extra topping free."

The two Daria's separated, the first joining Jane and Tom, the other heading off with a wave.

"Huh," said Tom. "And you thought you were so original."

"Come on, let's go before someone sees the two of us at the same time."

"Don't you need Cupid to undo what he did to your parents?" asked Jane.

"I asked earlier. He said it should sort itself out naturally."

* * *

Helen and Jake lay desiccated on the floor, unable to move and with all feeling lost below the belly.

"Water…" croaked Helen before falling unconscious.

* * *

St Patrick's Day and Bonfire Night ran into each at the punch bowl. Both of them had been planning to spike it.

"B.N.," said Paddy coolly. "Good gig."

"We may get some new ones on the back of it," said Bonfire Night, not looking at him.

"Leaving helped then?"

"It…"

Cupid noticed the scene and _concentrated_…

"…oh, _bollocks!_ I'm sorry, please forgive me! You _know _I love you!"

The two holidays kissed, sobbing that they'd never leave the other again, and Cupid walked off with a smile. He loved a happy ending.

(In Lawndale, Quinn yelled "SHIT!" out loud and wasn't entirely sure why)

* * *

Daria, Tom, and Jane walked back to the wormhole, away from the horrors of high school and towards the horror of a different high school.

"Should I care that absolutely none of this has made _any _sense?" asked Jane. (A small quake ran through the island and a star went out)

"I'm… I'm just…" Tom raised his hands in defeat. "Other dimensions really _exist_, and so does the supernatural! Can our lives really go back to normal after we've learnt _that?_"

"Don't worry," said Daria. "This has been such a bizarre and uncharacteristic thing to happen to us, I'm sure that when we get home we're going to deliberately forget this whole affair and any ramifications from it, and never mention it ever again." Daria turned to her readers. "And the same goes for all of _YOU _at home."

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This one was written because I have seen many Daria full-series AU's, and none of them had ever done an AU of _this_ episode.

The Fifth of November is Guy Fawkes NIGHT, more commonly called Bonfire Night. That's ticked me off for ages.

International Pizza Day is a real day.


	29. Daria's High Score

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Ep 29: Daria's High Score**

Daria's mistake, she realised later, was feeling sorry for Principal O'Neill.

"It's… well, it's like this, Daria, Lawndale High could _really_ do with some… favourable attention, the sort that _Val _can provide-"

"You want permission to submit one of _my _essays to a teen magazine dedicated to superficial matters and run by an editor so shallow she named the magazine after herself. Do I really need to explain the flaw here?"

"Oh, I'm sure Val will _love_ My So-Called Angst! And if it wins the Spend A Day With Val competition, then the _opportunities _will-"

"How many other students are you entering?"

O'Neill looked down. "Five," he mumbled. "Th-There's a lot of quality… Oh dear."

He was clearly desperate, too proud to admit to it and too incompetent to hide it. Daria's conscience reared up from its grave, moaning "but look at his sad face!" at her rational mind. Lawndale High's reputation had to be teetering on the brink for him to risk exposing her to a teen magazine editor.

"Okay, fine."

What the hell. No way would _Val _go along with it.

* * *

Two weeks later, O'Neill burst into Daria's class, crying out "Daria! You'll never guess who's by the phone waiting to hear from you!" – and unfortunately, the class was Gym and, specifically, the changing rooms. The stares of two dozen girls registered with him _too late_.

"I… I… um… _oh dear._"

He ran off crying. Daria sighed and made to follow him: "Unfortunately, I _have _guessed who this might be. Oh, Jane: since my essay was Language Arts, then the news would-"

"Way ahead of you," said Jane, taking a small rubber ball out of her bag. She pressed her ear against the changing room door, listened for oncoming footsteps, backed away, counted, and threw the ball _really hard_at a high angle – right at the time Language Arts teacher Ken Edwards 'accidentally' burst in.

"Daria, you'll nevAAAAAAAAAA!"

"Oh I _am _sorry, Mr Edwards, I shouldn't have bounced it off the door…"

* * *

Tom mooched into the Morgendorffer's with a textbook in hand, saying, "I'm ready for the study date", and then noticed the Val issue in Daria's hands. "Whoa, the curriculum has really slipped since I left."

"The day after tomorrow, I have to spend time with Val herself. I'm knowing the enemy. Oh look, I can also know what 'TV's Hottest Hunks Think About Your Blackheads'."

"If you want light relief, you can help me revise macroeconomics."

"And they say romance is dead."

The duo sat down to read when the peace was disturbed by Daria's father coming in.

"Oh hey kiddo- _Val_? Daria, are you feeling okay?" He bent down to check her temperature, concern on his face. "We'll call 911! TOM WHAT'S THE NUMBER FOR 911?"

"I'm researching for later," said Daria. "Because I'll be forced to spend the day with Val. I have told you this."

Jake blinked. "I thought you were _joking_."

"I wish."

That conversation done, Daria and Tom went back to the book… as Mystic Spiral came in, Quinn trailing in Trent's wake.

"Hey Daria- _whoa._" Trent stared at the magazine. "Did you lose a bet with someone?"

"School assignment."

"Man, O'Neill's changed with power."

"What are you _doing _here, anyway?"

"I'm having an evening meeting with all the bands I consult with – joint promotion schemes!" said Jake happily. "The Spiral, the Harpies, Fetal Metal, that drunk guy that hangs out near the bus stop…"

Daria blanched, grabbed Tom's arm, and yanked him upstairs. All those bands _and _her family in one place meant one terrifying thing…

They'd almost made it to her room when her father yelled "Hey, how about we put some music on?".

* * *

It had been two and a half hours, and the music was still on, and so were the impromptu bass battles the bands were having, and the sound of drunken merriment and a few broken objects. Daria and Tom had finished the revision but remained upstairs anyway, waiting for things to calm down.

"And by my calculations, things have become 150% louder in the last hour," said Daria, who really had calculated this. "This could be an all-nighter."

"I think we should risk it," said Tom. "Even if it's not safe to cross, what we _know _is less scary than what we don't."

"Spoken like a man who isn't going to be meeting Val as in Val."

The two took a deep breath, took each other's hand, and went out and down the stairs. Half the stairs, anyway, because the lower half had Trent and Monique making out (Daria _hoped_ that was it) on them; an empty beer can was embedded in the wall, _somehow_; the downstairs carpet was littered with cans and food and a sleeping Max (who'd found a teddy bear). Through careful observation, they could see guitar players in a three-way contest to see who was coolest, hear five competing punk and rock songs blaring from all corners of the house, Quinn vomiting on Fetal Metal's front man (who cheered), Daria's parents topless and chest-slamming in triumph while standing on a table (she hadn't needed to see that), and random people she'd never seen before and hoped never to again wandering around drunk & headbanging.

"This isn't going to work," said Tom.

"Damn it, if we can't leave we still need food from _somewhere-"_

At that point, Axl – the least safe tattoo man on Dega Street – came to the rescue, spotting them and yelling_ "HEY DARIA, TOM, WE ORDERED CHINESE IN, HAVE SOME!" _before he threw packets of food to them.

Or, due to a misjudged throw_, at _them. Said food including sweet and sour sauce.

"Oh piss. Sorry."

"Good Luck Chinese my _ass_," groused Daria before heading back upstairs to safety.

* * *

Daria was taking her soaked jacket and shirt off before she realised: a) she needed to put a new one on fast since Tom could see… ahem, and b) Tom had taken _his_ shirt off and seemed to have only just realised arg arg arg _reboot brain._

She threw on the nearest clean shirt and tried not to think about Tom's chest. Which meant that was _all_she could talk about. In her room. In…

_I have to kill the mood._ "Hey, let's read and snark _Val._"

* * *

"And there's another article on looking and acting sexy for your boyfriend, aaaaand… yep, another 'true story' about a reader's life being ruined because she _had _sex with her boyfriend. Oh, and an ad for an Abstinence Only group." Daria put down the offending magazine, looking like it had parped out an eggy one. "So Val's message to her impressionable readers is they should spend lots of time and effort looking like they're all sex, all the time, but if you have it you're a slut and Bad Things happen. What are the girls getting out of this again?"

"The guys don't seem to be doing well either," added Tom.

"Not funny in this context. You'd think in 2011, we'd be beyond this double-standards crap for women but then again, we still haven't gotten rid of American Idol. In many ways, we're a third world country."

Daria came out of her rant and realised, with growing horror, that she was in her bedroom with her boyfriend who was wearing one of her shirts ("sorry Daria, emergency") and had just talked about sex. _That was a miscalculation,_ she thought. _Am I blushing? Mmmm, yep. Joy._

"It's been nice but I better go home!" said Tom loudly, having reached the same conclusion.

He opened her bedroom door and fell over as three senses were overloaded by a naked Trent blasting his guitar at point-blank range, stinking of unmentionable acts, and singing "GO TO THE BATHROOM GOTTA GO THERE NOW" before he exited, hopefully to the bathroom. Downstairs came a roar of **"BURGER TAG!"**from Daria's family.

Tom quietly shut the door again. "Presumably your dad will do some consultancy at his consultancy meeting."

The sound of police sirens made Daria perk up – "we're saved!" – but when she looked out the window, she saw the LCPD were just setting up a blockade around the house and stationing officers to prevent anyone leaving. (They'd been doing this long enough that Helen and Jake had set aside beer for the cops)

"You're never going to leave," muttered Daria. "The entire universe is against me. Which, admittedly, we already knew."

"Daria, you told me before that you weren't ready for sex, I'm not going to push it," said Tom, trying to sound reassuring but a glimpse of irritation coming through. "You _can_trust me to sleep on the floor and do nothing."

"You're right, nothing's _forcing _us to-"

Downstairs, there came the sound of AC/DC's Shoot To Thrill. The song about willies.

"I'm going mad, Tom."

* * *

It was now midnight. Everyone downstairs was singing but didn't seem to agree on what song they were singing.

Upstairs, Daria was so tense that if this was an action film, there'd be a dramatic heart-beating sound in the background and quick-cuts to her staring eyes. As this wasn't an action film, she instead got that slightly drizzly noise when you breathe in heavily through a nose that should really have been blown earlier.

"I can go out the window," offered Tom.

"I considered that." Daria drew her hands down her face, pulling her eyes open. "Arrrrrggggggg. If I hadn't _started _thinking about sex it'd be fine, but now it's like trying not to push a giant red button with the words Do Not Push This Red Button on it."

"When I get frustrated I just masturbate, but that'd involve leaving the room I guess."

"Yeah, I considered that too." She sighed. "I… Hrr. It's the intimacy thing. _That much_ intimacy, it's… it's scary. I'm not a very, ah, open person, that… Wow. Even _I _think I'm being whiny."

Tom, being a good boyfriend, kept schtum at that.

"Rationally, if we don't do _something _physical to burn all this out, I'll have a nervous breakdown and start eating the padded walls." She paused. "So, erm… Kiss?"

"Just a kiss."

Five minutes later:

"Okay! Okay… Tom, I, ah, ah, we, um…"

"Right, too far, got it, I'll get off-"

"No."

"Okay, I'll move my hand-"

"No. Crap. Um…"

It was getting very, _very_ hard to think straight. Objectively Daria had assumed things would get this far and hoped/pretended/something that they wouldn't, but here she was and here he was and neither were wearing much and his hand was somewhere it hadn't been before and her skin was burning and she breathed like she'd run the marathon and her glasses started to steam up and his eyes and and and and and oh _hell with it-_

Tom would have said something in surprise if he'd been able to talk.

And at long last, for the first time in her life, Daria let her fear of intimacy drop away and just… let it in.

* * *

Thirty seconds later:

Daria stared up at her ceiling, trying not to think The Thought in her head.

"Um…" Tom winced in advance of his next line: "Was it okay?"

_Oh shit. And he'll know if I'm lying…_"No. Uh, sorry."

"I'm kinda embarrassed now."

"I think there's enough shame to go around after _that_. There are nuns who could've done better than me." Daria didn't speak for a good half minute, and then she said: "Uh, you want to see if we can do it better the second time?"

"_Yes._"

* * *

2 AM in Lawndale. Tom crept through the house like a thief in the night, and in a biological sense he kinda was. The floor was a maze of beer cans and strange fluids and a few sleeping people, and each step ran the risk of being discovered. He could've done with a shower even _before _touching that floor.

But the door was in sight. He was going to make it. And then he could sneak home with the realisation that _holy crap on a crutch HE JUST TOTALLY SCORED OH WOW_and okay the first time had sucked but the second time had to be a B Minus, right? (Okay, C+ but no lower) And Daria had…

Daria _trusted _him. All the insecurities she had throughout the relationship and the fear that he'd drop her, and in the end she trusted him.

Tom's mind was full of such thoughts, up until he found the fucking front door was fucking stuck oh fuck OH FUCK DARIA'S FATHER WAS BEHIND HIM

"_Mr Morgendorffer!_"

The drunk Jake smiled: "Oh hey, Tom! The door always sticks on me too, lemme get that for ya-" He headbutted the wall _beside_ the door, lurched back slightly, then kicked the door open (and broken)."There ya go. Say… why _are _you here?"

_I am going to die _thought Tom.

"This late you musta… Oh!" Jake slapped Tom on the back. "Way ta _go_, Tomb Sloane!"

"…th-thanks." He fled out the door before Jake could change his mood.

"Nice guy, that Tom…"

* * *

It probably would've gone okay for all concerned if Tori Jericho, Lawndale High's human equivalent of a tabloid, hadn't been coming home from her _own_ secret tryst (and let her tell _you_ that was a mistake, that car had been _totally _out of style).

_Isn't that Tom coming from OH MY GOD._

She went for her phone the way a normal person would breath. "SANDI YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT NO THIS COULDN'T WAIT UNTIL YOU WERE UP."

* * *

Getting downstairs for breakfast had required careful navigation of all the debris and still-slumbering people and it had taken longer to find in the kitchen: a) food, b) clean plates and cutlery, c) somewhere to sit that hadn't been broken and wasn't soaked in a sinister fluid, but Daria had managed it after a fifteen minute quest. She was almost glad; that had required her to _think_ and that got her out of the stunned daze she'd been in since she'd gone to bed. She was no longer in mint condition. She'd actually – she'd gone through that much intimacy _and it hadn't gone wrong_.

She'd dimly expected this to happen but later, much later, some distant point in time. Maybe she should be scared that this would change things, ashamed she'd given in so quick, paranoid she might be found out – the relief of having _survived _overrode that. It was okay. It would all be okay.

Erin was the first to reach the table, gingerly stepping through the shattered remains of last night. (She seemed to have had a good night's sleep: she'd finally adapted to living with the Morgendorffers.) Quinn was second, not bothering with care and stepping through anything in her way (her foot now made a squelching noise). Since neither had smelt the lack-of-virgin on Daria and pointed to scream "WHORE!", maybe it would all be okay-

"Daria!" Her parents had arrived, big happy grins on their faces.

Daria tried not to wince. _They haven't sobered up – again. _"Now kids, what have I told you about not cleaning up after yourselves?"

Then, to her horror, her mother hugged her – and then, to her greater horror, said: "I remember when _I _was having sex with a boy my mother disapproved of behind her back! I'm so proud!"

"We both are, kiddo! Way to rebel against society's standards!"

"Just remember, sweetie, if you don't take charge the first few times he'll _never _manage it-"

"NO," said Daria loudly, the whole conversation being so unfathomably alien and wrong that it counted as a cosmic horror villain.

"I'm afraid she's telling the truth," said Jake.

"Oh, but you learned, Snake, you _learned_-"

"NO," repeated Daria. "How did you even _find out _actually don't tell me."

Quinn finally understood what everyone was saying. "_EWWWWW!_ Thanks a fucking lot, you bitch, meaningless sex just got _ruined_ now people like _him _are involved!"

"Oh Daria," said Erin, smiling. "Now we can have womanly talks!"

Daria pushed her breakfast away and began to walk to her refuge from insanity, school. (And that was not a comforting thought at all)

"If anyone needs me, I'll be in _shame._"

"Awww, I walked away and ignored my mother _too_when she first found out," said Helen, back down Memory Lane.

"I ran away so my father wouldn't smack me one, but I had to come back home so he did," said Jake, for whom Memory Lane was part of an inner-city ghetto. "Well SCREW YOU OLD MA- Hang on a second." He rushed to the phone, dialled a number, and roared down the line: "SCREW YOU OLD MAN I GOT MARRIED, RAISED SOME GREAT KIDS AND MY ELDEST TOTALLY GOT LAID LAST NIGHT oh hi Mum, could you put Dad on?"

* * *

Before Sandi went to school, she made sure to look at Fielding's website and get a rough idea of just when classes would start so she could work out what time girls would be _queuing up _for class – i.e. a time when if Elsie got a text, at least one other girl would see it over her shoulder.

_Revenge is something best served, like, long after the thing you wanted revenge for._

* * *

While Daria was hooking up with Jane ("is Trent still at your house?" "His clothes are but that means nothing."), the gossip was flying from phone to phone like a flu pandemic. Ten students had even switched their phones _off_after getting multiple texts about the Daria situation. It was already appearing on Facebook and Twitter.

By the time Daria and Jane had _reached _school, a third of the student body knew and so did several members of staff.

Steve chucked a beer can over to her as she arrived: "Way to go, Daria! I never thought you'd do it!"

"What happened?" asked Jane. "You cure cancer? Fly? Join a school club?"

"Now you're being ludicrous. I guess he found out about Val… which implies Steve _reads _Val, which is a rather disturbing idea. Maybe he wants to know what hair colour looks just right for him."

"The magazine's published in New York, right? I wonder if you could con Val into you going _there _for the day. Pitch it to her as an interesting counterpoint to her article. Pitch it as a way she can talk about herself."

"Hmmm. That could work."

Inside the school, students were giving Daria contemptuous or shocked looks and there was the odd whisper-snigger-whisper-snigger chat – but since their classmates had been doing that for months after she'd made it so jocks had to actually _study_, neither girl noticed. They had noticed two boys giving Daria sleazy looks but Daria assumed she'd walked between them & another girl and Jane assumed they were looking at her (and wiggled her hips).

When they got to their lockers, a group of other girls pointedly left, one saying "let's got before we _catch _something".

"That's a new one," said Daria. "We should assure them they can't catch intelligence."

A group of boys walked past, giving the girls a deliberately intimidating look, one sniggering to the other "well it's not like her _looks_would get anyone".

"Okay, _that _made about as much sense as a Shyamalan film," said Jane. "What do you think, drugs in the drinking water?"

Before Daria could snark back, Kevin and Brittany walked past – and Kevin fixed Daria with a glare.

"Hey, _traitor!_ Don't think you can make me think you're a not-traitor by letting me score with you! That won't fly! Because you're a _traitor_!" Remembering his girlfriend was next to him, he quickly added "and I love Brittany and have totally stopped cheating anyway!" (but she didn't seem fooled).

Everything fell into place for Daria and the bottom fell out.

"Someone started a rumour that _you_ have sex?" snorted Jane. "Uh, Daria, that's your cue for a line. Daria?" Her eyes widened. "Oh." And then she smiled. "_Daria! _All right, spill, what did I miss out on when I split up with him?"

Daria didn't respond.

"Oh _man_. That _is _bad. Sorry, I should have jumped him myself, then he might-"

"Jane, I'm not in the mood."

"Oh, right, yeah, the… Sorry, I got excited." She looked away, embarrassed.

"A new rumour's going to take its place. The rumour about _QUINN BEING DEAD._"

* * *

"I saw it on the _Internet_, it must be true!" argued Spike.

"No _way_, man," said Shaggy, shaking his head. "It _has _to be a hoax, like Obama's driving license-"

"No, no, NO!" yelled Quinn, shouting the gang down. "I'm _telling _you, my sister didn't do a thing. She's too square! She will never, EVER have sex and I should know-"

The house of cards was nuked out when Daria stormed over, yelling "QUINN! Who the hell did you tell?".

"Oh man, Killer, your sister _wanted _people to think she'd done it?" said Scarlett, sounding disappointed. "Unspreading rumours about your sister is just cold."

"Quinn," growled Daria, "whatever you coached your acolytes to say, and in mid-sentence I realise Scarlett here can't have been coached because she said a coherent sentence and none of your gang could be trained to do that."

Dave and Andrea gave an offended cry of, well, "GRUNT".

"Precisely. But if _you_didn't tell people, then who…" Daria thought about it. "I can track this back. I need a computer-"

"We got Gym," Jane pointed out. "Unless we're going to cut class-"

As one, the Maleficent Eleven cried out that they could totally do it _for_ Daria; the clamour died down when she asked who actually _knew_about using a computer properly. As if the universe was against her, it turned out the best of the lot was Jackie Wentworth. AKA, "Slutty Girl".

"I'm always online," she said. Daria had a pretty good idea what Jackie was always online doing, and was genuinely surprised to find out she ran a blog about knitting.

* * *

Elsie got the text, looked at it, and screamed.

* * *

When Daria began changing for Gym, Jennifer yelled out "now remember, here you put clothes _on_". And lo, there was much snickering.

"Nothing like a good joke," Daria replied.

"And that was nothing like one," added Jane.

"So is putting out the only way you can keep a guy?" asked another girl Daria didn't know.

"Hell, must be the only way she can _get_a guy."

"Can't _believe_she did that, all the superior-than-thou attitude and she's just a-"

"Just one question," said Daria. "We _are_all aware that Brittany has sex all the time, right?"

"That's different," replied a girl.

"Explain how and show your working."

The girl thought about this, and then said "Slut" so she could win the argument anyway.

Daria closed her eyes and muttered to Jane: "I thought the whole point of being unpopular was nobody talked to you or noticed you existed. What a swindle."

"Stay strong, amiga. You've handled this before, last year after the project with Kevin-"

"If by handled it, you mean got really angry and upset, sure. But then I had the 'luck' that many of the girls didn't have it in for me, so they weren't talking behind my back so _loudly_. Now? Now I'm just glad the Fashion Club aren't in our classes – more glad than usual – because I just know they'd be saying something really, _really _stupid."

* * *

"And I can't _buh-leeve _she did that and then came into school like she'd done nothing." Sandi snorted. "Some people, like, have no shame."

"Tooootallyyyy."

"Yeah," agreed Stacy, who'd had sex with random strangers five times as Death Rowe and twenty five times with Jeffy as Nerdy Stacy, but that was different.

"I bet she's pregnant. That's, like, what happens, you get all pregnant."

Tiffany was horrified. Who could risk getting _fat?_

* * *

Jackie focused on the library computer and the multiple Facebook and Twitter pages she had open: it was complicated and they were referencing each other at random and some clearly originated from text messages but didn't say who from and others were Friends Only, but she was getting a timeline worked out. Other members of the Eleven were helping too:

"Whoa!" said Koichi. "Go back to _her_ account, hers were _huge!_"

"Urg, he's got a post-this-if-you-agree meme in his status," said Angel, disgusted. "Comment and tell him to copy your comment if he agrees he's a douche!"

"Awww, I didn't know her cousin had a baby!" said Scarlett.

"I didn't know we had IT now," said Burnout. "When did you all join my class again?"

* * *

The only thing worse than Gym was _Double_ Gym, and Daria had it. Two periods of physical exercise was bad enough without putting up with muttered insults and people giving her a wide berth (something she normally _loved_) and 'overheard' conversations about what sort of girl would give it up so easily. The only upside was seeing girls have to quickly assure Brittany they didn't mean _her_e very five minutes.

"You could tell Mrs Nikahd," said Jane, standing closer to Daria than normal as a gesture to the others.

"Then I'd have to tell her _what _they're saying. That's not a conversation I want to have with a teacher." She sighed. "Being the school brain was hard enough, damn it, I don't have time to be the school slut too. And if I try anyway, I'll just get given other roles and then it won't end until I'm the class clown. And then you'll need to shoot me."

_You can cover it up with snark but I know this bothers you._ "Hey missy, in this economy some people _dream _of having the job of school slut."

Banter helped for a bit, but when Gym finished Daria found someone had sprayed "SLUT" on her locker. She stared at it for a split second, then opened the locker and took her stuff out like nothing was the matter.

Jackie caught up with her, looking proud: "There's room for error, but the earliest Tweets mention Tori Jericho told them or told someone who told them!"

"So Tori was passing by my house _after _2AM, I'm sure that was completely innocent and there's nothing at all I can get revenge with."

"Nah, I think there's totally something you can get revenge with!"

* * *

Meanwhile, during morning break at Fielding, Tom Sloane was slapped on the back by every single one of his friends.

"Pope – and that name no longer fits! – we've all heard the wonderful news!" said Pat. "Congratulations! You're an inspiration and legend to us all!"

"Except me."

"Except Terry!"

"Was she good?" asked a slavering Stephen Pierson-Wells, giving Tom his first clue about what the hell anyone was talking about.

"How did you guys find out?" asked Tom, while thinking _oh crap, I hope they don't ask if _I_ was good_. (They didn't)

* * *

Maths and History went by in a blur, Daria focusing on the lessons and not the comments behind her back. And not the call of "you free tonight?" and similar phrases from multiple laughing boys between classes. And not the extra graffiti on her locker (though she was touched to hear Quinn had hit someone who she'd caught doing it).

At lunch, her spies Jackie and Shaggy – she handled the Facebook work, Shaggy just hung out in the background overhearing _everything_– reported in: from a Facebook update on Tori's page and overheard chat from guys in class, they'd found out Tori had gone on a date with Les from the track team. But this left her with a dilemma:

"I can start a rumour – though it's clear it happened – about what Tori did, but to be honest I'd feel like a hypocrite," said Daria. "I can't go from moaning about the slut-shaming I'm getting and then do the same to someone else."

"So, what, you're going to grin and bear it?" asked Jane.

"No. That'd require grinning."

When Daria went to the toilet, Jane turned to the delinquents and said: "Hi, I'm a hypocrite and would like you to spread a rumour for me."

* * *

On the way to class, the unstomachable happened:

"Miss Morgendorffer, or should I say _Mistress_ Morgendorffer!" sleazed Upchuck, lowering his shades with "PIMP" on the handles (he'd written it on himself, carefully). "I've heard the rumours about your, aha, _prowess_, and… well, let's just say Specs Appeal needs some new models, not that _I _run it or anything, and-"

"Upchuck, can you think of a single reason in that vast wasteland you call a mind that I'd go along with this?"

"It pays well."

"Fair enough, I didn't specify a _good _reason. Now can you think of a reason why I shouldn't 'accidentally' break your foot?"

He ran off fast, so apparently he couldn't. Daria would have thought this was the worst it could get but life was so good at finding new depths to plumb that it had almost reached China.

* * *

Elsie caught up with Tom in the hallway between class, her face ashen, and her posture shaky.

"Tom, please… tell me you didn't. Not with Daria. Please me you didn't-"

"He _did!_!" cried out Pat, before a group of guys started to sign the chorus to I Just Had Sex but with "He" replacing "I".

"They've been doing this all day," said Tom. "I can't stop them."

"Well now I know _why _you go out with her."

"No, but I'm sure there _are _some girls who could never attract a man without doing that," he replied, his voice neutral but his eyes saying insult was very much fucking intended.

Elsie left.

* * *

Daria's phone started to vibrate halfway through English class; she made sure Mr Edwards wasn't watching, then answered the call in case it was important.

"Huh huh, we heard you, like, are able to _score _now and, uhhhh… we were wondering if-"

"_How did you even get this number?_" she cried out, realising too late that everyone could hear.

She wasn't surprised when Mr Edwards asked to see him after class. She was certainly surprised when he said:

"I've heard about your recent journey of discovery, Daria. And I see that's left you confused and in turmoil; if I'm not being too forward, I'd say you need a more _experienced _guide to-"

"Mr Edwards, you better not be talking about what I think you're talking about."

"Please, Daria, call me Ken." He was.

She went out of the room as quickly as she could. Both Jane and Jodie were outside, clearly waiting for her: "What happened?" was what Jane asked.

"He's heard about my wanton, whorish nature and selflessly offered to give me a guide to his private parts."

"Excellent," said Jodie, before wincing and saying "let me rephrase that. _Useful._"

"I don't know why she's here, she just turned up," Jane said to Daria.

"Remember when Edwards first came – let me rephrase that – arrived and set that creepy essay? Jodie went digging for dirt on him so she could shut it down."

"There wasn't enough dirt to get rid of him entirely," said Jodie, "but now he's openly sleazed on you, he can face inquiries. It'd be your word against his, but in a case like this-"

"Nah, due process takes too long," said Daria. "I've thought of a dirty, underhanded trick to play tomorrow instead."

"What the hell, as long as it works."

"It's amazing, two minutes have gone by and you haven't tried to shame me."

Jodie shrugged. "Not _my _business if you want to be a disgrace and sell yourself cheaply."

"You're such a liberal these days, Jodie."

* * *

"Damn it, I don't know who's spreading these rumours about me but," was what Tori Jericho said to Sandi before Quinn walked up and punched her in the gut.

"That was a friendly warning about dissing sis, now don't do it again."

"What would be an unfriendly warning?" asked Sandi, scared but curious.

"Eh, I play those by ear."

* * *

After the last class, a boy was waiting for Daria to leave the classroom and started to follow her after. "Hey, Daria – you free tonight?"

"No."

"Any night? Could be fun-"

"No it couldn't."

"Oh come on, like _you're _too good for me- AAAAAA"

"Oh dear, I accidentally broke your foot with my own. Clumsy me. I do apologise."

He'd been the third guy so far.

Daria called her parents and told them she was going to be staying at Jane's for dinner, then asked Jane if she could ("hey, you want to risk Trent's cooking…"), and called Tom.

"Fair warning: our date tomorrow, I may be in a bad mood-"

"You? Never," came the reply.

"Someone at school found out about us and now everyone knows."

"Oh." Pause. "Shit. Are you alright?"

"No. I'm staying over at Jane's for as long as possible so I can calm down, but… It's just a mess."

"I'll visit later."

"I'd…" Oh hell, this was going to sound bad. "I'd rather you didn't, the mood I'm in. I don't want to take anything out on you."

"Oh." Pause. "Okay, I… okay. But if you're interested, I'm willing to kill half your school and make it look like an accident."

She smiled despite herself. "You say such sweet things."

* * *

Dinner at Jane's house was heated-up leftovers, but when they were leftover _from _Daria didn't dare ask. And food poisoning and explosive vomiting would get her out of school, so there was no risk involved.

" Now then. I have a plan to take out Ken Edwards and I'm hoping you can give some feedback. Tomorrow needs one good thing in it."

"Val should've been enough, really," said Jane.

"Val?" Daria's eyes widened. "Oh. I forgot about that. And speaking of Val and forgetting, I think I was supposed to be home tonight…."

* * *

When the Morgendorffer's front door opened, Val – dressed in the latest teen fashion and wearing the best plastic surgery her thirty-five year old face could get – stared in and said "Oh my god", but quickly recovered and said "it's so _edgy_! I'm so _jiggy _with my idea of spending a day with a typical mid-Atlantic teen-"

"Who are you?" asked Helen.

Erin walked past and Val said: "And you! You must be my brilliant Daria! You look taller than I expected…"

* * *

Tom woke in a start at 3 in the morning, jarred from sleep by his phone ringing.

"Oi Fascist!" the caller said.

"Quinn? It's three in the morning, I was asleep-"

"I know. Listen, bunghole, if you're going to be fucking my sister, I better not hear you _suck _at it or I'll come round and tear you a new one, clear?"

"Yes," he said, not daring to ask if she was serious.

Daria woke at a more normal time and, after realising she'd have another day of being Slutty McSlut of Slutshire _and _a day as a prisoner of Val, almost went back to sleep. But she got up, because… well, she wasn't sure but a reason would likely occur to her at some point.

Val was at the house by 8, opening with a cheery "Hi, girlfriend! I am-" and then stopping and getting a fixed smile as she got her first look at Daria. She carried on as if she hadn't paused: "-beyond psyched! This is going to be just too much fun! Are you jiggy with this?"

"I doubt it."

* * *

It was School Colours Day at Lawndale High, coincidentally at the same time Val was appearing. In the old days of Li Junta, almost everyone "voluntarily" wore the Lawndale Lions yellow and blue on that day. Under the benevolent suckcracy of Principal O'Neill, only real volunteers wore blue and yellow.

There were ten of them, and that was counting the cheerleaders who'd be wearing their uniforms anyway.

Sandi and Tiffany preened themselves at strategic points at the school entrance, putting on a show for the arriving boys. Stacy was MIA, allegedly ill, so it was just the two of them representing the Fashion Club. (Unnoticed, soccer jock Stacy came to school wearing the yellow-and-blue soccer club uniform.) And represent it they would. Sandi knew what was coming. She knew her great Satan. She knew that Cindy _would_ come to school in the school colours, and _primary colours in daylight hours were a no-no_. Her position was doomed.

Cindy came to school in blue and yellow, and four dozen boys immediately fled the school to cries of "oh _man_, I gotta _change!_".

"Tiffany dear," said Sandi in a tight voice, "let's go and fetch some more _colourful _outfits."

"Buuuut… fiiiiirst periooood is going to staaaart."

"We have more important things to think about now."

Val and Daria entered school a minute later, Val giving an insincere "Oh no! Do you think all these people are here to see _me?_" before she noticed that the school was practically deserted. Only the dregs of Lawndale, the ones who didn't care about popularity or looks or sometimes hygiene, remained.

So, naturally, Daria said: "Sure, Val. Shane over there is a big fan." (At this point Shane was doing the pull-my-finger routine with Spike)

Despite Val being here in secret and totally incognito, Meg Rosata from Channel 4 News just _happened _to be present to ask Val if they could follow her around. Or they would have if Rosata hadn't turned to Daria in mid-sentence and said: "Miss, why is the school deserted?"

"It's School Colours Day and they're showing how much they love their school."

A sea of yellow-and-blue streamed into the school half an hour later, but by then the news crew had gone and DeMartino had taught a class that consisted solely of Daria and Jane. It was the happiest class of his career.

* * *

"I hope no one acts differently around me, but you'll let me know, right Daria?" asked Val, the celebrity wearing clothes half her age.

Before Daria could say anything sarcastic, she saw Jennifer and Winona coming up, really fake smiles on both faces.

"Oh, there's Daria! Let's say hi to our buddy Daria!"

_You are not being serious, _she thought, but she was wrong: two girls who'd been ripping into her for being filthy and whorish just yesterday were coming over pretending to be friends.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your new friend?" asked Jennifer."

"No."

"Oh, Dar, we might as well give it up, I'm just too recognisable!" said Val, utterly ignoring what Daria had just said. "Yes, it's me, Val! As in Val!"

Daria decided to bring things to a head and put a matey hand on Jennifer's shoulder; the other girl quickly threw it off, a look of disgust on her face, before remembering her cover story and stammering "I-I-I had a bruise there."

"Oh, sorry. Oh hey, friends, would you like to hear about my last date with my boyfriend?"

The girls froze, desire for reflected fame battling with sickened horror.

"Well, we got in his car-"

Sickened horror won and they ran off. Daria gave a sigh of relief, only to see Sandi and Tiffany coming over (_oh come on!_).

"Like, hi, you cheap-…" Sandi concentrated hard on pretending to like her. "…hi Dora! Why, I didn't _know _you were friends with Val, what a surprise! I and the rest of the Fashion Club-"

"All one of them."

"-had just _happened _to dress to show the very best of Lawndale chic..."

Val was paying attention to the dim duo – with a more credible look of interest than she'd shown around Daria – so the misanthrope took the opportunity to sneak off. And she sneaked off right into Brittany and Kevin (who were wearing clothes coloured like a neon sign had thrown up).

"Oh _hi_, Daria!"

"Val's over there, away from me."

"Oh goodie, now you can't tempt Kevin with your slate ways!" said Brittany pleasantly.

"Slatternly."

"Ohhh."

Daria walked in, right into Cindy.

"Val's over there, you don't have to pretend you like me and aren't thinking 'whore' at the sight of me."

Cindy blinked. "I just wanted to go to my locker. Wait, Val's over there? _Cool!_"

_A reason for being awake still hasn't occurred._

* * *

She got to English class before Val, and found Jane arguing with cheerleader Nikki.

"That's _my_ seat. It's _alway s_my seat. I scent-marked it after every Taco day in the cafeteria."

"This is just for _today_, dyke, I don't want to sit next to Ms Yo-Yo Knickers anymore than necessary but-" Nikki suddenly noticed Daria was there. "Oh _hi_, Darla! Do you mind if I sit-"

"Yes."

"_Great!_"

Daria gritted her teeth and sat down. Time for drastic measures. "Hey, Jane, you were right about Tom's penis," she said in the flattest monotone she had. "He is indeed a biological jackhammer."

"Oh man, what orifice it _can't_work with!" replied Jane. "Get him to do them in alphabetical order."

Nikki looked stricken but still hadn't shifted, so it was time for the big guns. "You want to come over tonight? Three's company. We can achieve new levels of unrivalled rapture."

"I'll bring the Spiral too."

"Yes, only a full-on gangbang can satisfy my uncontrollable carnal urges." _Nikki's got a stronger will then I thought. I may have to move to incest._

Sadly, the rest of the class and Ken Edwards filtered in, cutting off Daria's escapades. Ken Edwards spent the whole lesson staring at Daria when he thought no one was looking, and even worse, Val started to _talk_during the lesson. And take questions.

Jodie, Rand bless her, cut in with: "Don't you think _Val _could try to present a less vapid, less sex-oriented point of view to girls? That it could inspire them to have more respect for themselves and feel less pressure to fit an impossible standard for boys?"

"Looking good _is_ having respect for yourself, and Val just makes sure you know exactly how to properly look good so the boys _know _you look good!" said Val cheerily. "It's not like we're telling girls to be sluts or anything!"

_You're just full of respect,_ thought Daria. _Full of something, anyway._

* * *

When the lesson ended, Daria sneaked over to Edwards and muttered: "I'll talk to you at the start of lunch."

"_Oh joy and rapture,_" he whispered.

Then, an interested Jane and a confused Val in tow, she went over to the teacher's staff room, went in, and asked for the extension number for the phone there.

"Just in case."

* * *

Even more people turned out to be Daria's friend over the next few lessons, even that guy who'd started singing a rap song about ho's at her (she wasn't sure if he knew what _Val_was or had just figured out someone famous was next to Daria). Jane had not just lost her normal seats, she was at the other end of the room.

On the plus side, Janet Barch was staring with utter loathing and contempt at Val and decided to teach a lesson on social brainwashing theories. That had been cool.

"Wow, Dar, you're more popular than… _some _people might think!" Val told her after Science. "Everyone seems to want to be your friend!"

"Yes, it is strange how that happens when I'm around a celebrity."

"Are you saying you're not normally popular?"

"That's right. I don't even have a clique."

Val edged slightly away from Daria, no mean feat when walking with someone. "But you're… cool, right?"

"I think she's cool!" added Jane.

"But you're cool, right?"

"Val, search your heart here and find what you know to be true. I'll be right back, I need to sort something out."

As Daria walked off, Val sighed and said "thank Christ" before she remembered Jane was still there. "Just kidding, Janey!"

Daria nonchalantly dialled the staff room and then walked into Edwards' class. "Sir?"

"_Daria!_ Oh, I was worried you'd get too scared, and at the last minute you'd – but no, you're here, that's all that matters!" He stepped forward and took her hand in his. "I know what you've gone through, all that passion as you blossom into womanhood and no _guiding hand_, only the untrained efforts of your so-called peers, but _I-_"

"Ah… Mr Edwards, just so we're clear here, what you're saying is-"

"Oh, you know what I'm saying, dear nymphet! Let me be your experienced guide to the pleasures of your awakening desires…"

He would have continued on that vein for a while if Barch and DeMartino screaming **AAAAARRRGGGGG**hadn't emitted from Daria's pockets. After a panicked second of thinking Daria's genitals were rejecting him, he realised what must have happened and then…

Well, then he began to _run_.

But Coaches Sherman and Nikahd were already thundering down the corridor; he flung the nearest bin at them, which they jumped effortlessly. Unfortunately, when Sherman landed, both his prosthetic legs came off.

"Damn it!" He started to drag himself forward with one hand, a leg in the other. "Tommy Sherman's gonna kick you with his _hand _for that, punk!"

Nikahd would have cornered and pummelled Edwards, but he outsmarted her by ducking into the _boys' _toilet. She skidded to a halt at the sight of its sign, screaming "CRAP!".

Edwards climbed out the bathroom window, a window not quite big enough for that, but with a few torn clothes and bruises and cuts, he managed it. And got down just in time to see DeMartino.

"ANTHONY IS THE **ANGRIEST ONE THERE IS!**"

Faced with a being of incredible rage coming for him, Edwards did the obvious thing and, yep, ran away. DeMartino followed for a few seconds before he fell over, wheezing and clutching his chest, roaring out "come BACK and get BEATEN UP like a MAN!".

Not taking any more chances, Ken went for his car. He'd have to leave Tiffany behind and all his hopes & dreams of her calling him "Ken", but he'd have to make that sacrifice – he was _almost _home free-

The window directly above him shattered; Janet Barch came hurtling through it, screaming "MEEEEENNNNN SSSUUUUUUCCCKKKKK" on her way down, and as she landed she _jumped_ and _dropkicked him in the face_.

Ken Edwards went down.

So did Janet Barch, now screaming "AAAAAAAA MY LEGS".

* * *

"John Thomas!"

"You realise this new nickname implies I'm the only guy in Fielding getting some," Tom told Pat.

"With a _townie_, and that's an achievement that puts the lacrosse team to shame, Thomas," he said. "There be dragons. That, however, is a distraction: have you seen the news? Your _alma mater_!"

Tom looked at the website on Pat's phone. "The police are locking down Lawndale High _again?_"

"Yes, what _does _cause all those calamities?"

"You've met Quinn."

* * *

Lunch was going on longer than normal, and Daria had a blessed forty minutes of being grilled by the LCPD and social services about Ken Edwards: a time _not spent near Val or other students_. (She had to force herself not to smile) On her way out, she saw Jodie coming in for an interview with a big file marked "EDWARDS, K"; Jodie gave her a thumbs-up.

_How big a win is this?_ Daria wondered, and then saw an angry Superintendent Pascal smashing his way into O'Neill's office, lawyer "Foggy" Murdoch trailing after him and downing pills. _Godzilla-sized._

* * *

When she got back to the cafeteria, Jane told her: "Val got dumped by her boyfriend and had a meltdown in front of everyone."

"I missed that? Damn it. And I was in a good mood."

Val was holding court, surrounded by a large number of enraptured girls, with Sandi as close to the front as possible. (Barely noticed by Daria, Stacy kept leaving the soccer club's table in mid-sentence to go listen to Val, then wander back to the table and pick up on the exact syllable she finished. The rest of the club were getting a bit worried by this)

"…and I told him – this is VAL talking! Not some ordinary teen loser from Loserville!"

The girls all gasped in wonder. "You are inspiring," said Sandi.

"Anyway, I am _through_ with actors, they're just after _one thing _and will dump you for any slut-"

Daria's voice cut through the air: "So it wasn't your decision that every issue of _Val_ would be focused on telling girls to _promise _that one thing?"

Everyone looked at Daria like she'd done a big eggy one.

"What do you mean?" asked Val, a warning note in her voice.

"What do _you_ mean by pushing yourself forward as some kind of role model when all you do is push the same bullcrap that teenage girls get enough of anyway? You tell us to sexualise ourselves but actually _having_ sex marks you with a scarlet S, in the _21st century _no less. Aren't we going to be screwed up enough without your type of contradictory values making it worse?"

"Like, ignore her Val, she's a slut," said Sandi reassuringly.

"I don't even _need _to argue, Sandi here does it for me."

Val scowled, finally letting her distaste for Daria come through. "Now look _here_, missy, what are you, a teacher or something? I came here to do a piece on a smart girl that's cool, because smart can be cool, but smart that doesn't _get _cool just isn't smart is it?"

"I almost understand what you think you're saying. Maybe you can explain how it's cool to try and shame girls for having sex with their boyfriends?"

"You mean you are a sl-" Val shut her mouth too late.

"Some people have said that, and some people have also said you look thirty five," said Daria, her voice starting to shake. "The difference is, 'slut' is a matter of opinion and your age is a measurable fact. And I made a conservative estimate here."

_"THIRTY FIVE?"_

Daria turned and walked out, calling over her shoulder: "And yes, I take it as read that my essay's no longer in _Val_. I'll survive somehow. Probably by having sex with my boyfriend – which, I understand, is _another _difference between us."

Jane caught up with Daria, glancing back and muttering, "You just managed to piss off _how many _people? Again."

"That's how I know I'm doing the right thing."

* * *

Tom knew Daria was coming over, but he hadn't expected her to bluntly say: "And your parents are definitely coming back _tomorrow?_"

"…not unless they've heard the rumours going around school."

"Your sister's out?"

"I pretended I was having phone sex with you, I don't think she's coming back ever again."

"I decided on the way here that it would piss off a large amount of people if I had sex with you as soon as humanly possible. Therefore, I have to do it."

Tom was quiet for a second and then said, "We might want to shut the front door first".

* * *

"I'm sorry Ms Barch, but the only way you can ever walk again through months work of surgery and rods and a lot of other expensive treatment," said the doctor. "And… well, you're a _teacher_, right?"

"allmensuck"

"I'm sorry?"

"_Nothing._"

Barch fumed in her hospital bed, consoling herself by reliving the satisfying crunch of Edward's nose. (Heh heh heh.) And when she stopped reliving it, it was two hours later and a punk woman was standing in front of her.

"How long have-"

"Five minutes. But forget all that: as I understand it, you were injured in a workplace accident that involved protecting students? I think with the right approach, the school board will agree they should cover your surgery work."

She raised a suspicious eyebrow. "And how much is this gonna _cost?_"

"Oh believe me, this is pro bono," said the grinning Helen Morgendorffer.

* * *

A startled scream split the night around the Sloane estate.

A few minutes later, Tom was still apologising. "I'm sorry, Daria. It… it just surprised me."

"You weren't the _only _one surprised."

"I knew – not personally, but y'know – that people made strange faces when they… er. Got satisfied. But…" He shook his head. "I didn't realise that many teeth could _show _in a smile."

"I always did tell people I'd only smile if I had a good reason."

Tom lay back on his bed, looking at Daria with some concern. "It was only two days ago that this whole situation worried you, and now – don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but you seem more… er… aggressive tonight? No, aggressive isn't right. _Blunt_, I guess. Did something happen?"

Daria stared into space, thinking about that. He was right. And something had happened. But before that… long before, her grandmother, Ms Morris, Li's final stand, the exams, the weird time she didn't talk about… Maybe before even that, when you got down to it.

"I think," she said slowly, "that I've just stopped putting up with things that get in my way."

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I knew this episode had to occur when I thought of Jake the Snake going "way to go!" during My Night At Daria's. Since Daria has both been with Tom longer and is more confident in this AU, the dirty deed both actually occurs and the situation comes up sooner. (Merging it with The Lost Girls was a later decision)

Pat and Terry, again, come from Roentgen's The Hallowed Halls of Fielding.

Daria's smile? Well, you remember her big toothy grin in Sealed With A Kick...?

BONUS:

**Rejected Scene #27**

"Like, ignore her Val, she's a slut," said Sandi reassuringly.

Daria narrowed her eyes and in loud, flat tones, sang out: _"If you've had sex in the last thirty minutes then you know you wanna sing with me!"_

Stacy leapt to her feet, quickly donning her Geek Stacy glasses: "_I just had see-eee-eeex -_"

Jackie Wentworth stood up, undoing her jeans with pride. "EVERYBODY SING!"

"-_and it felt so good!_" sang out Cindy, causing a ripple effect.

"WE ALL HAD SEX!" declared Brittany on behalf of the cheerleaders

"_A woman let me put my penis inside herrrrr!_" sang the whole football team as they pelvic thrusted.

"I WANT TO TELL THE WORLD!" roared a Backgrounder with no lines ever.

"_I just had see-eee-eeeex-_" sang the whole senior team.

"_AND I'll NEVer GO BACK!"_yelled a passing DeMartino, fist-pumping.

"_To the not-having-sex ways of the past!_" finished Jane.

Outside, Steve and the security guards began clapping and finger-snapping to the beat.


	30. Dance Noon

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Ep 30: Dance Noon**

"Popcorn!"

On one of the cleaner spots of the Zon's dance floor, Tom and Daria received huge boxes of the aforementioned snack from Jane (who had her own). The air in the club was tense, nobody sure what was going on, but Daria and Jane knew. And Tom figured it was going to be bad because the girls looked _happy_.

"It's just a battle of the bands between Mystik Spiral and the Harpies, right? You haven't rigged anything to explode?"

"My dad organised this gig just last night," said Daria, "and arranged for some local music journalists to get free tickets. Because…"

"Trent and Monique had a messy break-up _again _this month," said Jane, grinning like the Cheshire Cat on acid.

"We _had _to come down."

Up on stage, the Spiral and the Harpies glared at each other. Trent went for the microphone first and growled: "Hey. We're Mystik Spiral. And we're _not_ in a rut unlike _some_ people. This first song is called _ICEBOX WOMAN._"

Monique sneered and made a gesture to the rest of her band. As the Spiral started up, so did the Harpies, shadowing their unwitting rivals precisely…

"_You're an angel in black! You sure have the knack! For putting my heart on a shelf at the back!_"

Suddenly the Harpies changed the tune, turning the whole thing discordant, and Monique sung out: "_You put your heart out of reach! Ignore when I beseech! You turn our love rotten like an unchilled peach!_"

Trent seemed phased for a second but started to speed up and increase his volume…

"We can tell our grandchildren 'I was there'," said Daria. "And then we'll tell them that we lied before and their music is _much_better than the old stuff we listened to."

* * *

Killer Quinn was in the crowd, holding a huge sign saying "GO SPIRAL FUCK YOU MONIQUE, **SIGNED QUINN**" (Trent would see it and love her and he would be her Trent squeeeee). Several of her gang, including Death Rowe, were perfecting the art of synchronised headbanging. She'd stuffed loads and loads of TP down the toilets. How could this night get even better?

Then two new punks arrived and yelled "CUNT!" at Monique _just _as she was about to sing, throwing her for a brief second.

"Damn, I should've thought of that!" growled Quinn.

"Whoa!" said Spike to the newcomers, stunned. "You totally _shouted _something!"

"Just doing our bit to help the _good_ band," said the taller stranger, a tower of tight-packed muscle with swearword tattoos, frayed black jeans as his only clothes, and hair that was both shaved _and _dyed green (Daria would later see him and go "that reminds me, I need to mow the lawn"). "Yo, Vinnie, and this is Baz."

The other stranger, unshaven to the point of it being an attack (you're wondering if he's unshaven _everywhere_, aren't you) and stocky and leather-jacketed and with a face like the lovechild of Judge Dredd and a bulldog, gave a nod. "Yuh."

"What's Baz short for?" asked Angel, noticing the newbies.

"Nothing _short _'bout me," he replied, waggling his eyebrows and getting a laugh from Vinnie.

"We heard good shit about this place up in Oakwood, so we came down," said Vinnie. Lawndale must be fuck-off awesome because your football team beat ours and made them cry, and that _ruled_."

"I'm Spike, this is our boss Killer-"

"Screw all the talking crap," ordered Quinn, "can we go back to the yelling cunt at Monique thing? We gotta do that _coordinated._"

Vinnie and Baz thought about it solemnly. Meanwhile, Daria passed by on her way to the bathroom and said, "that reminds me, I need to mow the lawn". (Told you.)

Vinnie overheard. "Yeah, I _bet _you need to," he sneered.

Daria looked at him impassively.

"I don't get it either, Daria," admitted Spike.

"It's a coded reference to me being unfeminine, cunningly using both a metaphor for pubic hair and redirecting an attack back at the sender," said Daria.

"…_ohhhhh!_" He started to laugh. "Good one, Vinnie!" (He hadn't really understood what Daria had said, but he _had _grasped that the joke involved pubes. Huh huh, pubes!)

"It _is_incredible that he came up with something so quickly. Now if you'll excuse me…"

"I don't get it," said Vinnie, confused.

* * *

Another day had dawned. In the Lawndale County Court, the case of Janet Barch VS the Lawndale County School District was in its opening stages, with two men good & true and ten random slobs waiting for the first statements. "Foggy" Murdoch, on-call lawyer for the district and a man single-handedly saving Drugs 'N' Stuff from financial ruin, kept one eye on Helen Morgendorffer and the other on Superintendent Pascal (metaphorically; he'd tried it literally and almost went blind).

"She can't beat us this time," he told his client quietly. "She can make a case but we have the fact that there was no clear and present reason for Barch to power-bomb through a window. We just have to keep stating that-"

"_I know._Why do you keep telling me?"

"-and Helen can't win," finished Murdoch, who'd said it five times in the hope that _that_ would make it _true. _"Her only way forward is if her very first witness can immediately sway the jury-"

"I call my first witness, Brittany Taylor!" called out Helen.

The blonde, perky, popular, attractive, bosomy cheerleader walked to the stand and Murdoch said "shit" and thumped his head on the desk.

"Ms Taylor, do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but?"

"Ummm, am I allowed to swear in a court? Won't I get in trouble?"

"Let me rephrase that: do you promise to tell the truth?"

"Sure!"

"Ms Taylor, can you describe your former teacher Ken Edwards?"

"Ewww, he was _creepy! _And he kept making us read this book called Lolita and it made my head hurt even more than the books we normally read for class, and there was this one icky bit he kept talking about-"

As the litany went on, Murdoch turned to Pascal and said: "Are you _absolutely sure _our star witness will play ball? Really, totally, swear-on-your-mother's-life that the witness won't cock it up for this whole case and make my ulcer worse?"

"Edwards claimed they had a rapport and she'll vouch for him. We're safe."

* * *

"Heeeee did stroooooke my haaaaiiirrr a lot when he was aaaacting out parts of his stooorrryyyy after claaaaass," said Tiffany.

The room went very, very silent.

Murdoch _ran _to Helen's side of the court and screamed "WILL YOU ACCEPT AN OUT-OF-COURT SETTLEMENT?"

"_Hell _no, asshole, you're fucked."

* * *

Substitutes would have filled in on Edwards' and Barch's lessons, but to cover the lawsuit the school board had some extra cuts – now, the classes had been asked to carry out self-directed learning. Most of Daria's class had risen to the challenge, carrying out practical physics experiments that, to the untrained eye, looked a lot like throwing a ball around and firing spitballs at each other. Jane, meanwhile, had been allowed access to the science room's whiteboard and felt-tip pens – a tribute to the clash between futurism and classical romanticism, through the medium of two people hitting each other with big sticks.

Shaggy, the designated lookout, walked backwards into the room and called out: "O'Neill's coming!"

The class took out books (Kevin's was upside down) and pretended to read as the man came in.

"Hello, students – just to let you know, we're _still _looking for someone to head the dance committee for the school's upcoming dance! And, uh, someone to… work on the committee." He rallied quick: "To volunteer is to say 'I care'!"

"That might explain the lack of volunteers then," said Daria, which _someone _had to say.

Unnoticed by her, Mack was developing a calculating expression. A dance committee was an extracurricular activity. An extracurricular activity that wasn't sports at a school that was a by-word for school sports corruption (and just corruption). He _needed _something like that.

_And Kevin_ won't ever _want to work on a dance, _he thought with rapture.

O'Neill had visited Sandi's class and told them about it, and Sandi had started to quiver at the very _words_ "dance committee". She'd been here before in Middle School, over a dozen fashion seasons ago – a time she could barely remember. But she would never _forget_ the horror of having to _do work herself_. And she had. She'd gone and worked hard on the decorations.

But it all went wrong because of a simple mistake. Namely, the mistake of leaving stuff:

a) That she'd worked hard to make.  
b) That was breakable  
c) That was hers

anywhere that her younger brothers could get at it. Her mother had told her "to volunteer is to say 'use me'" and made sure to remind Sandi that she'd told her that; she'd been right too (though she didn't have to look _quite _so smug about it).

But her mother had also told her that she had to get on top and stay there to get anywhere on life, ideally by kicking other people _off _the top. And that sometimes required sacrifice. If she wanted to defeat Cindy for the role of queen bee, she'd need to do something big and pulling off a cool dance? Big.

_Feh, whoever's there will do the work for me, right? No one can resist this face._

* * *

"_EXCLUSIVE!_" screamed the Sick, Sad World website front page. "_Is the death penalty only getting killers back on our streets_ sooner? _REINCARNATION RISK!_"

"What did antisocial losers do before there was an internet?" Jane asked Daria.

"They watched TV. Before that, they read books unless they were illiterate – so thank god for the public school system, or I might have to learn to socialise."

"Speaking of things that are S-words, want to try the Zon later?"

"Okay. It's probably a good thing Tom's busy tonight: if I run into Grasshole and The Other One again, I'll _have _to snark them and they'll say something dumb and Tom will feel the need to defend my honour. And get beaten up."

"Oh, boys like getting beaten up. It makes them feel tough."

* * *

Spiral and Harpies were having a rematch. The crowd was _even bigger_than before; local TV crews had turned up to report on this, and Jake deliberately walked past the cameras (five times) carrying a sign with the band's websites on.

In the crowd, members of the Eleven were having a serious discussion:

"Fuck you, say that again and you're dead!" Angel roared in Koichi's face. "Tinky Winky would _annihilate_ Barney! He's got that handbag, doesn't he, he can _bludgeon _the guy!"

"Barney's a fucking _carnosaur_, he kills living things all the time for food!" he yelled back.

"He never ate anyone-"

"They were all in his _posse!_"

Quinn ended the argument with "Oscar the Grouch can own them _both_, he's from the _streets_", and Angel and Koichi concurred with this.

Up on the stage, the bands were preparing – Trent and Monique were not looking at each other in extremely pointed ways. Down in the crowd, Vinnie and Baz mooched along with a large cardboard sign. They proudly showed it to the gang: a certain four letter word filled the thing.

"And we sprinkled _glitter _on it," said Vinnie.

"Whoa, you thought this through," said an impressed Koichi.

"Huh huh huh, that's a rude word," exposited Shane.

Angel, almost unnoticed, snuck off.

"I dunno, it's a good effort but I think the same word again will just get samey," said Quinn.

"Some words just _never_ go out of style," said Vinnie. "And we gotta do our part to help the _real _band!"

Quinn felt uneasy but didn't know why. "You know Trent actually _dated _her?"

Baz winced. "Poor _bastard_. He must look back and think 'why didn't I slap her when I had the chance?'."

Okay, now Quinn was getting an idea of why she felt uneasy. She almost said something, but Spike and Dave had laughed at that joke. That made her pause. It couldn't be – _wasn't_- a big deal and she didn't want to look stupid.

"Ha ha," she said weakly.

* * *

The first meeting of the dance committee was in session, and consisted of Mack, the three-strong Fashion Club, and the omnipresent sense of certain failure.

"Okay, first-" began Mack, before Sandi cut him off: "Ma_cken_zie! I don't believe anyone _voted _you in charge, hmmm?"

"Sandi, we'd been sitting in this room without talking for three minutes. _Someone _had to talk."

"Oh, and you feel, like, qualified to make snip decisions?"

"Fine, you start."

Sandi felt like a deer in the headlights of a Sherman tank. "Ah. Um. Er."

_Oh great. Back to the Kevin tactics,_ thought Mack, but _said_: "I'm looking forward to hearing your ideas for a theme."

"YES! Yes, we, uh… oh, I know, we could decorate the gym like the inside of a limo. Those really _posh _ones they use in Hollywood."

"That's a great idea!" said Stacy.

"Tooootaaaallyyyyyy."

"Sorry love, don't get how that's meant to work – a load of bloody seats? There wouldn't be any room to dance!"

Said Stacy.

In a fake English accent.

Sandi had absolutely no idea what had just happened, but it scared her. One thing she did know is that Stacy had just _questioned her_, so she shut her dropped jaw, forced herself to forget how weird that had been and how Stacy's entire _face_ had changed, and went with: "_Gee_, Stacy, if you've got such good ideas, why don't _you _tell us?"

"Ha, I got sod all. Sorry." Stacy blinked and her face took on a scowl. "Alright bitch, here's a fucking idea: let's just, shock horror, put on some lights and music and let people do their own fucking dancing. Get some beer in and old-school Misfits, who needs to over think this?"

"Uh." Sandi somehow managed to take a step backwards while sitting down. "Th-That's an interesting idea, S-Stacy…"

"Oh, um, I know, how about we have a fashion show theme and we can walk down the runway and everyone can watch us from the sidelines!" said Stacy cheerily.

"Thaaat's greeeaaattt."

Sandi sensed the return of the status quo and charged in. "Yes, if you want to make a _mockery _of the runway by having the visually unacceptable waddle all over it."

"Sorry," whimpered Stacy.

"Why don't you vet everyone who goes on the runway and have everyone else standing at the side?" said Mack, making sure his voice was as grumpy and pointed as possible so even _Tiff _could understand he was dissing Sandi.

"That _is _a good idea," said a thoughtful Sandi, to Mack's growing horror.

"Toootalllyyyy."

"Yeah!"

"Wait, no, hold on, Sandi, there's no way you can do that for a school function-"

"Okay, Ma_cken_zie, let's hear _your _suggestion and then we can take a vote."

Mack, on the spot, said the first thing that came into his head: "Thor."

_Oh thank god I hadn't watched Reservoir Dogs yesterday instead._

Sandi, Tiffany, and Stacy voted for the runway idea. Mack and Stacy voted for Thor. ("I did only vote once," said Stacy) After the theme would come the division of work, and from the look on Sandi's face Mack had a pretty good idea how that would turn out.

* * *

Next morning, en route to school, Quinn seemed in a bad mood. Daria was sensitive to such things by years of familiarity and by the way Quinn kept throwing things at passing cars. (Jane wasn't helping by saying "bet you ten you can't hit that wing mirror")

"Did someone remind you that John Lyndon appeared on adverts for butter, or is this important?" asked Daria.

"Shut up, that's lies made up by The Man using… using Rotten's twin brother! I was on that Sick, Sad World site two years ago! _Aunt Amy _fucking reported it!"

"Yes, on April 1st, after I asked her to," said Daria. (She felt a twinge of pain at Amy's mention but ignored it. Quinn hadn't intended that.) "I only ask for fear you'll stay pissed and graduate up to headbutting oncoming trucks – _no_, Quinn, that was sarcasm, stop looking like that."

"I could do it," she muttered, looking down. She continued to look down when she said, "there's no issue, alright? Everything's brutal. We're all just punks being punks."

"The two punks I'm thinking of certainly _are _being a five-letter word that rhymes with 'punks' and includes an 'un'."

"Well now you're falling into their trap," said Jane.

"I'm reclaiming the word."

"Nice recovery."

"It's no big deal, damn it!" spat Killer, sounding as convincing as a fat Dracula at a blood bank saying he hadn't done anything. "The guys don't have a problem, it's just a joke, they don't mean anything – well, they couldn't, right? That's not what we do in the scene, we're better than that! Yeah!"

"And Nixon is not a crook," said Jane.

"And Battlestar Galactica and Lost knew exactly where the plot was going," added Daria.

Quinn muttered something unintelligible and walked ahead.

"You realise when this has a violent, chaos-filled resolution, we'll be involved whether we want to or not," Jane said to Daria.

"Yes. Which teacher do you think will get fired this time? Ten bucks on Mr Fulch."

* * *

"Defence for Barch calls its fourth witness, _Private Tommy Sherman!_"

The county-famous football star and wounded veteran strutted into the courtroom in full dress uniform; several people in the audience _and jury _cheered, and Tommy waved back (and walked into the witness stand). At the other side of the room, Murdoch gave up taking notes and just started to doodle little kitten heads.

"Private Sherman, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing _but_the truth?" asked Helen.

"You bet."

"Can you tell us your impressions of Mr Edwards?"

Tommy cleared his throat and with utter solemnity, he said: "He sucked."

* * *

"In my legal opinion, Morgendorffer is going to win, she'll take a huge amount of money for Barch, and then knowing Morgendorffer your car will be vandalised in the middle of the night," Murdoch told Superintendent Pascal. "Your only hope is to do something really underhanded."

"I already tried blaming someone else for all this," said Pascal.

"I meant against Barch and frankly, the hole you people keep digging, I wouldn't-"

"Barch's records show she's a bundle of suppressed rage and misandry, desperate to tear into all men over a bad divorce but unable to in class for fear of being recorded on phones…" Pascal was a starving man who'd realised the garbage might be edible. "Ms Li had standing orders that if and when Barch finally exploded, security was to use any and all means to bring her down before she eviscerated a student. If she had to chaperone a school dance, where every single boy will be either horny, obnoxious, or both, and was 'accidentally' given a spiked drink, then there's a very real possibility she'd blow her nut! And that would show she's overly violent and prone to rash action! Right?"

"Oh hell, whatever, I don't care anymore."

"_Excellent._ Barch is going down!"

* * *

Daria and Jane were quite surprised to see Mack come up to them, metaphorical cap in hand, muttering "_Help_".

"Don't worry, we'll kill Kevin for free."

"I am working on the school dance committee. I am doing _everything_ on it. I need someone, _anyone_, competent to help me with this." He looked to Jane with desperate hope. "We need art done for it…"

"What's the theme?" Jane asked.

"Fashion – wait, come back! Please!" They didn't, so he turned to the nearest person and said: "HELP!"

"Sorry, man, I'm on break," said Steve the security guard.

* * *

Sandi had targeted and locked on to the Three J's and some of their friends. _Excellent_. She'd saunter over, ask them to help her with the important bits of the dance like getting her outfits sorted and drafting up the list of uggo's, and win their help with the promise that one of them would get a date with _her _and the others could have Tiffany or Stacy (and she had three excuses worked out for if a better offer came along).

"-the second Fast and Furious is the best, or they wouldn't call it _Too_ Fast _Too _Furious-" When Sandi coughed, Joey immediately turned and said "oh hi Sandi!".

The other boys concurred, lust in their eyes. Awww yeah. She was getting back on top.

"_Hey_ guys." She gave them her most winning, least-haughty smile (so normal-person haughty). "I'm sure you've all heard about the really _cool_ dance I'm running, with, oh, live DJ and _strapless tops?_" (The boys all stood to attention) "Well, I just need a little hand with the work and in return-"

"Hey guys!" _Cindy_had come over, being all… Cindyish. "Just wanted to see if everyone's not too busy for the party I'm having Saturday?"

The guys all cheered, Jamie declaring, "We're _there_!" and leading a group chant of "SATURDAY! SATURDAY!". Sandi merely gave her nemesis an amused smile; let her have her little party, it would _suck_ by comparison to _her _dance, and all the boys would go and realise it sucked and therefore Cindy sucked but not in the way boys wanted her to suck, and then…

Then something from the outside world penetrated into Sandi's brain: "_Sa_turday? That's the same night as the _dance_, Cin_dy_."

"Oh gosh, sorry! I completely forgot about the school dance!" The other girl blushed. "Erm, I guess I'll have to order less tacos and soda-"

"Tacos? ALL RIGHT!" cheered the boy in the jade hoodie, and the chant of "SATURDAY! SATURDAY!" went up again.

"Well the dance _also_ has tacos, and… and…" Sandi gave up as she noticed all the boys had diverted attention. _SHE'S DONE IT AGAIN AAARRRRGGGG._

* * *

Mystik Spiral's battle with the Harpies had moved to a new venue that night, but the Zon made up for it with a young up-and-coming thrash metal band, Smash Your Fucking Face In. Their singer screamed "AAAAAA" into the microphone with true passion.

"So what I'm saying is, we should make Barch some prosthetics in metal work with, like, spikes and skull designs, and she might amputate her broken legs and wear _them _instead!" Andrea declared. "It'd ROCK!"

"Maybe she could break her arms too and we could then n-" Scarlett paused in mid-sentence, sighting something in the distance, and said "excuse me, bathroom."

Every girl who wasn't Burnout and Quinn headed off. That confused Quinn, because while the Zon's Bleeding Ears cocktail had that effect on everyone, she didn't know it had _synchronised_. The mystery was solved when Vinnie and Baz mooched over, yelling, "oi Eleven!".

"Hey!" said Quinn with fake cheer; "Yo" and "Wassup!" and other things from the other guys, genuine.

"Did I just see all those chicks going off with Jackie?" Vinnie whistled. "Well we know she loved it but _wow!_"

"I don't think she loves peeing that much," said Shaggy.

"No, dumbass, he's talking about lesbian sex!" said Koichi, elbowing him. "It's, like, because she's gone off with a load of girls and she's slutty, it's a… metaphysical or something!"

"Yeah, I got it," muttered Quinn.

"_Bet _you did! Ha, only joking!" Vinnie turned to Burnout. "So hey, 'Burnout', right? You've always looked a bit sleepy, wanna see if I can wake you up a bit?"

Burnout thought for a second. "Oh. Was 'excuse me, bathroom' the codeword? I forget."

"Ha, Vinnie, uh, funny joke and all but…" Quinn stopped, took a deep breath, carried on. "Could you make a bit less of them? They're a bit, uh…"

"Ohhh, hey, not trying to be offensive or anything, geez," said Vinnie, sounding like he'd been wrongly accused of bumming sheep. "Just a joke, Killer."

"Yeah, didn't think _you'd _be so PC," added Baz.

"I'm not PC! I'm totally not! I, I totally make black jokes all the time! I'm hardcore! Watch this: three black guys walk into a bar, an English, an Irishm- Wait."

The male malcontents looked at each other, a collective and unspoken "errrrr" passing between them. This was a situation that confused them.

"Well, he said he's not trying to be offensive, didn't he?" said Spike, going for the bit he could grasp. "So…"

"Yeah, I'm just being myself, we're all punks here, right? It's just a laugh, right?"

"I guess," said Quinn slowly, no longer sure of the ground she was on. "Ummm, Burnout?"

"Ex-cuse me, baaa-thu-room," she said, nodding once she was sure she'd got it right, and then walking off.

"Her time of the month or something?" asked Baz, and Quinn thought _I need Daria to explain this one, with pie charts like that one time_.

* * *

Mack answered the door and took a step backwards at the huge threatening figure before him.

"Hey, kid! Jake Morgendorffer, Morgendorffer Consulting! Put it there!"

Mack blocked the strike before he realised it was just a hand being extended. "That's… the current thing in… the hood," he said, covering.

"Is it? Whoa, thanks, I had no idea! I'll have to practice that for my meeting next week…" Jake shook his head to clear his thoughts. "I heard from your parents that you're in charge of a school dance and wondered if you'd like some live music to PUNCH UP that ending!"

"_You _know my parents? Not to be rude, Mr Morgendorffer, but are you sure you have the right house?"

Jake frowned and stepped outside to have another look at the house number. He stepped back. "Yeah, pretty sure. I know them from-" (It suddenly occurred to Jake that the Mackenzie's wouldn't want their son knowing that every week they dyed their hair, went around puking, and once set a fire on fire.) "-church."

"I… see." Mack gingerly took the poster he was given. "I don't think Mystik Spiral and the Harpies really fit with a fashion show theme."

"This is a promotional event – they'll play free!"

"They're in."

* * *

The Friday before:

"And I'm the only one who can chaperone this dance out of _the entire school?_" Barch asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"I know, I was surprised too," said O'Neill, who hadn't fully understood his orders from on high. "But I'm sure everyone will behave."

_Boys can't behave! They're genetically programmed to be destructive, self-absorbed pigs just waiting to DUMP YOU AFTER TWENTY TWO YEARS! _"Maybe you're right."

* * *

"I have sorted out the decorations," said Mack (he'd pleaded with Ms Defoe to paint something), "the lighting" (he'd pleaded with the janitor to show him how they worked), "the catwalk" (he'd pleaded with the metalwork teacher to make building a catwalk that day's lesson, and slipped him some money), "the music" (Upchuck had pleaded with him to the DJing) "and the catering" (the Maxi Mart had been open). "Stacy?"

Stacy wasn't there. (At the soccer team practice, Stacy looked up and said "oh hang on, guys, I forgot something, be right back!")

"Okay, Tiffany?"

"I got my dreeeesssss ready."

"I've paid the guards to work at the party keeping the undesirables off," said Sandi. "This will be the best dance _ever_. We'll _show _Cindy that we're the ONLY happening thing THIS Saturday!"

_Cindy's having a party? Damn, wish I'd known that at the start,_thought Mack.

Stacy burst into the room, her clothes back to front, crying out "I'VE SORTED OUT THE POSTERS I THINK I CAN'T REMEMBER WHERE I PUT THEM _wheeeeeeze_".

* * *

"If Spiral's going to the dance, then… THEN WE GO TOO!" Quinn yelled at the gang. "I don't like this shit anymore than you do, but you have make _sacrifices _for stuff!"

"I heard Vinnie and Baz planned to crash," said Dave, "that'll be cool."

"Aha. Yes."

Daria passed by with Jane, overheard this, and got out her phone. "Hey, I've decided to go on a date with Tom and guess where."

"You aren't seriously suggesting _we _attend a social function, are you?"

"Things sound like they'll be volatile and ready to explode and cause immense damage. So _yes_. Yes we are. Quinn will thank me, or more likely say something rude."

"Hmm. Got a plan?"

"No, I'll improvise."

* * *

Sandi and Mack had to admit that Defoe had done a stellar job at decorating the gym in the style of late-60s 'flower power' romanticism. But they didn't, since psychedelic pastel flowers and wind chimes and the peace symbol _clashed a fucking lot _with the theme of fashion shows.

"I'm sorry," said the teacher. "I forgot what I was supposed to be doing and…"

"AAAAAAAA!" aaaa'd Sandi. "I don't _buh_lieve this! You've messed everything up and this isn't what we'd asked for and how could you even _forget this much?_"

"I was distracted by a conversation with a friend – I realise this is a completely inadequate excuse but, well, there it is." (Mack gave the teacher a weird look, finding this too _coincidental _for comfort…)

"We can get past this, we can get past this, we _will_ get past this… _Sta_cy, prepare the…" Suddenly, Sandi realised they'd forgotten something. "Uh. Where's…?"

* * *

The whole soccer team entered Cindy's house, moving straight for the tacos.

"You ever get the feeling that you're forgetting something but can't quite put your finger on it?" Stacy asked the person next to her as she ate through the junk food.

The person with her, sadly, was Kevin, who said "ummm…. _Oh MAN!_"

* * *

A gaunt, intimidating figure in baggy leather and hair dye with a bare chest lurched into Lawndale High and then, in Tom's voice, said: "I hate to seem classist, but did your dad wash these clothes? Ever?"

"That's a very good question," said Daria.

"I'm not going to be a very convincing punk, you know. They'll smell the posh on me."

"Not if Dad hasn't washed that jacket, they won't."

"Daria, even I know you're half-assing this plan," said Jane.

"Not a problem, we're dealing with half-wits."

* * *

Eventually, the dance started to kick off. High-octane beats thundered out as Upchuck cut his funky shit, mixing and matching and doing that _wwkkk-wwkkkk-WKK _noise DJs do, the sort of thing that would make anyone (who wasn't Daria) feel like dancing. And dance they could, as long as they danced in the 50% of the gym that wasn't roped off.

"Back, back!" yelled Steve, prodding a slightly chubby student back with a stick. "If you're not on the list, you're in the ugly section! Seriously, it's written on this sheet here, 'the ugly section'."

The select few beautiful people strut their stuff down the runway, lit up so everyone had to see them if they liked it or not. This meant everyone could see Brittany crying.

"WHERE IS HE I CAN BELIEVE HE FORGOT NOW I LOOK LIKE A LOOOOOSEEEEEEERRRRR-"

(Back at Cindy's party, Kevin was about to ask someone if _they _knew what he'd forgotten but then he saw the TV had sports on and forgot)

_It's going GREAT_, thought Sandi, every dance step perfect. _This is cool, even with all that hipster crap or whatever on the walls. I'm on the way up._

_Aw crap, all the other students are looking really pissed about the "ugly section" and I think that guy plans to throw something soon,_ thought Mack, who is smart. _Well... at least if things get out of hand, Barch can handle it._

* * *

A MAN was telling a girl to go to the ugly section.

MEN were at the edge of the catwalk, meaning they were looking at legs and trying to see up skirts.

The dancing crowd had MEN in it trying to grope and making lurid come-ons with their behinds.

This dance was about fashion and that was run by MEN, and something about hippies and the hippies had "free love" which was code for UNCHECKED PENISES.

Barch's eyes twitched and she took another gulp of the "teacher's only drink" that had been set aside for her. (It tasted kind of like vodka AND THAT WAS MADE BY MEN)

She hobbled off on her crutches, a walking A-bomb with the trigger codes in the hands of a acid-tripping chimpanzee.

* * *

Jeffy's nerdy girlfriend Stacy entered Cindy's house, giving a bashful wave.

"Hey, gorgeous!" Jeffy gave her a greeting kiss. "I was hoping you could make it."

"Well, I did have to drop a few things but no major problem," she said. (Up above, a soccer player was saying "Anyone seen Stacy?" and another person saying "I think I saw someone jump through the window but that'd be nuts…")

* * *

The ugly corner was getting ugly when the Maleficent Eleven arrived. Several guards were already hiding behind Steve ("oh come on, guys, _really?_").

"Whoa, and I thought this would suck before Mystik Spiral turned up and we'd have to break something!" said Quinn. "Maybe we'll get to break something instead!"

"And _this_ goes out to all you poor souls left out in the cold," crooned DJ Upchuck, "to let the ladies know to _heat things UP RRRRROWR!_" And then he started to do mix The Ugly Bug's Ball with Disco 2000. (Nobody was quite sure if he was dissing them or not)

Quinn took command: "First thing's first, seal off the snacks! ANDREA, DAVE: SCOWL! Everyone else… er…"

"Eat?" suggested Burnout.

"That!"

Quinn's good mood soured fast when she saw Vinnie and Baz slouch in, and then it got confused when a punk she'd never seen before intercepted them ("hey, what's up homies? I think that's right..."). Before she could decipher this, Daria sidled up to her from nowhere.

"Sis, for no reason but my infamous charity and love for people, I have decided to help you out." She handed her sister an iPod. "Instead of listening to dance music until Trent arrives, have a playlist of the angriest, most violent songs I could find."

"Oh BITCHIN', sis!"

Quinn started it up before she'd even finished speaking. Daria walked off, phase one complete. Now she just had to keep Vinnie and Baz away from Quinn for the next forty minutes, by which time (based on past evidence) Quinn would be mentally 'ready' to talk to them…

* * *

"And… and last night I headbutted some Fascist cow - _pig_, I said pig," said an increasingly desperate Tom.

Vinnie and Baz looked at each other. They'd have assumed he was some buttmonkey playing dress-up, but he sure _smelt _like a real punk…

"And, er, em…"

"Yeah, okay, we're off to check out the bitches, see ya," said Vinnie, walking away _very fast_.

_That didn't work_, thought a waiting Daria. She headed towards the dillweed duo, texting "PLAN B" to Jane as she went.

"I don't remember you going to this school," Daria called out. "You must really blend in to a crowd."

The punks stiffened, mortally dissed, and turned round to glare. "Got a mouth on you, aincha?"

"Use that mouth _properly _and we'll talk."

"I've already eaten," she said. (The punks instinctively covered their groins) "With such charm and wit, I'm sure you're a hit with the ladies."

"Oh come on!" sneered Vinnie. "Just because you _you're _too square to know about the scene-"

"Who was the Ramone that left before they became famous?"

Confusion and horror struck them down, and their brains worked furiously. Daria figured it'd be at least five minutes before they worked out she was lying.

* * *

"STRANGULATION!" sang Quinn at the top of her voice, scaring the crap out of a passing Tiffany. As she rocked out, the rest of the Eleven pigged out on food; Barch stalked past, eyes doing an extended tribute to DeMartino, and tore a bowl of food from Dave and gave it to a foodless Angel (who hadn't been hungry).

"MMMNNNNNNN," she growled, before trying to drink out of an empty bottle.

A sweating, breathless Death Rowe ran over, saying "sorry, sorry, bad traffic, lost track of time" (and back at Cindy's party, Jeffy was thinking "Stacy's sure taking her time in the bathroom").

* * *

The popular and the beautiful continued to dance and strut, or at least some of them did. The others had noticed the ugly corner outnumbered them six to one and had quietly sneaked off. Sandi aggressively didn't notice, grabbing Mack and getting her funk on. The fact Mack wasn't dancing didn't matter.

"Sandi, this is a very bad situation," he said (she didn't hear). "We... er… what is _that?_"

"That" was Jane going around, quietly and subtly moving select people into different positions. (By subtly we mean she said "can you move here for a sec?", physically moving them, and saying "thanks" and walking off, something so audacious that nobody had realised they could say "piss off") Once eight people in strategic places had been readjusted, the people around them thought, "hey, what's that guy staring at?" and moved too, and it just dominoed from there like a set of dominos.

One of the few people not moving were Vinnie and Baz, who were distracted by Daria's dissing.

And then Daria turned, yelled "SECURITY'S AT ITS WEAKEST OVER THERE!" and started to walk. People nearby heard that and followed, and were followed themselves – a vast wave of people, swarming forward, pushing Vinnie and Baz at its head ("wait, what?") – Daria quickly sidestepped away and let the crowd carry on to, as it turned out, security was _not_at its weakest.

Pushing and shovings without honour or humanity broke out. (Barch would have gone over if she hadn't been busy trying to kill Upchuck with the power of her glare)

_That should hold them for a few minutes. Now for Plan C.._

* * *

"Where did Death Rowe go?" asked Spike.

"She ran out, said she'd be a minute…"

* * *

"Hello? Stacy, you okay?" Jeffy knocked on the bathroom door. "Too many tacos?"

"Yeah!" came back the sad voice of Kevin.

_Oh. So… where's she gone?_

* * *

Mid-way between Lawndale High and Cindy's house, or as it would be if you ran on foot:

"I have not an inkling of how you were aware I'd be present, you goggle-eyed _ruffian_, but you will not upset my schemes _this_ time!" snarled the masked figure in a top-hat, a dinner suit and tie, and bloodstained brass knuckles. "_This _time, the Gentleman Thug will be triumphant!"

"_You will not_," hissed the masked girl, bringing her paintball gun to bear..

* * *

Steve had managed to get the crowd to disperse by telling them "look, the nacho's are almost gone!" but that left Vinnie and Baz free once more. Or it would have done, if not for Plan C, which was Daria sidling over to Upchuck's mix desk.

"H-H-Hello Daria," he said, wanting to flirt but not daring because Barch was staring _right at him_, like Tom with a bomb vest who'd finally cornered Jerry. "W-W-Want a request?"

"Yes. Can you play Thriller?"

Thriller hit and _everyone _instinctively did the Thriller dance (or their bastard attempts at it). Vinnie and Baz found themselves trapped in a moving obstacle course, and within a minute Vinnie found himself alone.

"I CAN'T HELP IT," said Baz as he Thrillered along.

_Ten more minutes to go..._

* * *

Dancing men EVERYWHERE all she could see MEN and song by A MAN and _why was the bottle empty_

Barch's teeth ground together.

* * *

Stacy stumbled into Cindy's lounge, breathing heavily. She'd got it under control when Jeffy found her and asked:

"Stace, where did you g- You didn't have those boots before."

_Oh crap I forgot to change them._"I… went home… to change my shoes. Which is why I have these ones now."

"Oh, okay." (Hours later, he'd wake up in the middle of the night realising _that made no sense_)

* * *

Mystik Spiral and the Harpies began entering the gym and then stopped. Because there wasn't enough room for both of them to walk in at once. Which meant one of them would have to _go first_.

Trent and Monique stared each other down, grimly.

"_We're _the bigger hit," said Trent.

"_We _come first in the alphabet."

_Hmmm. Damn. Good point._

* * *

Plan D was to prevent the male members of the Eleven from going to Vinnie and Baz. Tom was sent in, and their eyes boggled as they saw him.

"_You _can't dress like that!" said Koichi, as a normal person would say "but that's wrong!" to a man putting puppies in a blender.

"School project," lied Tom. "We have to see if we can pass as a working class person and if we _can_, we fail."

"Well you've got the clothes right but the way you're _wearing_ them is a bit off," said Spike thoughtfully. "There's a certain _smugness _that you can just sense…"

"Good to know. I just wondering: is it possible to headbutt a punch?"

The male punks looked at their hands, looked at each other's heads, and then set to work. This could keep them distracted for hours.

Unnoticed, Quinn was headbanging and singing "GRRROOWWWWLLLLLL" along to her music.

* * *

It finally dawned on Sandi that nobody else but her was on the catwalk. Even Tiffany had gone (she'd spotted a reflective surface). Eyes staring, she went to the sidelines and hissed to Mack: "Where _is _everyone?"

"Sandi, have you noticed the death-glares and discontent from _almost everyone _because they're being told they're ugly and unpopular?"

"I don't have to, I'm popular. Duh."

"Yes, well everyone else _has_ noticed it and they want to not deal with any backlash at school. This is probably the _least _popular school dance Lawndale High's ever had."

"No. No. No, it can't-" Sandi's mind whirled and she instinctively yelled "_Sta_cy-" before realising the girl wasn't there. "Ma-_ack_-"

"I told you this was a bad idea and you ignored me," he said. "I wash my hands of this. The only reason I was on the committee was to put this on my record and long as the dance doesn't erupt into violence and chaos, _I've _already got what I wanted."

"Buhbubububuh…"

Mack ignored her and went back to staring at Daria and the Maleficent Eleven. _Waiting._

* * *

Plan E was a rerun of Daria's earlier "talk-to-them-hold-nose" initiative. By now, the duo were looking as pissed off as a missionary in Sodom.

"Enjoying yourselves, guys?"

"Not so long as we have to look at _your _ugly face, cunt," said Vinnie.

"Maybe she wants us. _That's _why she keeps coming over. Best offer she'll get-"

"I do have to ask, is there a _reason_ you have to be like this?" asked Daria, curious despite herself. "I _assume _you're not so terrified of sex that you make yourself as unpleasant to women as possible so it'll never occur…"

Vinnie snorted. "Oh _wow_, she's trying to get all Freud. You understand all those big words?"

"I wonder if you understand what the culture you're in is _about._The self-scribed mythology is that you're standing against the powerful and that the powerless should stand up. And how do you do that? Using it as an excuse to put down and intimidate women and then act like this is a rebellious act and not just a cruder version of what quote The Man unquote does.

"You're a disgrace."

She hadn't meant to add that last bit but in mid-speech she'd just become really fed up with them.

Vinnie was fed up too.

The slap could be heard couldn't be heard over Upchuck's last track but it could be seen.

And as the atmosphere grew tense and people started to mutter, Daria looked at him and her lips curled up into a humourless grin.

"_That_ was a _mistake._"

And as Daria's friends and family began to move and people began to back away and Vinnie & Baz began to worry about whether they should be focusing on Daria or another angle, things just needed one little spark to kick off.

It got a fuel-air bomb strike.

A fist struck Vinnie in the side of the face and ejected a tooth from the premises, and Barch roared out the battlecry of **"CAAAAASTRAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTE!"**.

Baz stepped in with a kick; Barch blocked it with one crutch, slapped him upside the head with the other. The first punk came in for a counterstrike, had his fist grabbed, and had his arm yanked so he staggered forward and his spine was in place for an elbow-blow.

Upchuck did what had to be done: "LOOK EVERYONE, A FIGHT!" he broadcast.

Everyone turned to see one crippled teacher taking on two people at once and the chant of "BARCH! BARCH! BARCH!" split the air. Trent and Monique saw it from across the room, looked at each other, nodded, took out their guitars, and started _improv_.

Barch was hobbling backwards at high speed, letting her foes come in closer, and shot a fist out into an oncoming gut; she took a headbutt from Baz in response, and delivered one _back_ with a **"PIIIIIIGGGGSSSSS"**.

_"BARCH BARCH BARCH IS THE VICTORY MARCH HER CLOTHES HAVE NO STARCH"_sang out Trent and Monique.

Fifty phones were recording away as Barch swept up _both_ crutches in one fatal move, right into the punk's crotches. They fell, fight left from them, and Barch picked them up and _threw them _into the catwalk. The entire edifice shuddered on impact.

**"MY LEGS HUUUUURRRRRTTTTTTTTT"**she snarled, slamming her crutches back to the floor before her legs broke in two.

"_HURT HURT SHE BRINGS THE HURT SLAMS YOUR FACE INTO THE DIRT SHE DON'T NEED NO FORMAL SHIRT!_" carried on the improv.

The crowd applauded. Steve put his own phone away, saving the file to Faves, and dragged the moaning, half-dead forms of Vinnie and Baz out of the gym, chortling, "ha ha you got your asses kicked".

Tom, Quinn, and Jane reached a stunned Daria: "I did not expect that to happen."

"That _was _something worthy of an epic ballad," said Jane. "But I guess Trent will do."

"Are you alright?" Tom asked Daria, checking to see if she was bruised.

"I was picked on once or twice as a kid. I've had worse. Uh, sorry you didn't get a chance to punch him yourself."

"So am I."

"Bastards kill KILL they're not HERE damn it I need to BREAK SOMETHING," hissed Quinn, finally at her greatest level of rage and with no target. "Need need need THAT CATWALK-"

She ran screaming over to the offending edifice and tore into it, trying to break it with her bare hands, and those around her cheered and joined in. Security backed off, not daring to intervene. (Sandi started to cry; Mack sighed and told himself "forget it, Mack, it's Lawndale")

"My cup overfloweth," said Daria.

"You don't seem as shocked as I was expecting," said Tom, cautiously.

"I was dealing with ignorant children who were never going to be able to handle a woman who wasn't cowed by their bullshit. I knew something could happen. I also knew that I have the contacts, the mental ability, and the sick-minded, vengeful mentality and patience to do more damage to them than they could do to me. But after Barch, I think I'll limit my revenge a bit just to be fair." Her voice kept its usual complacent monotone, and her words were all the more frightening for it. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to do what I know Quinn can't do and explain to the guys in her gang why they shouldn't allow 'joking' harassment of their friends.

"I think I can make them listen."

Jane and Tom were seeing a side of Daria they hadn't truly seen before – they'd seen bits, glimpses; more and more as time had gone on, but they'd just felt a trunk and believed that was the whole elephant. When they first met her, maybe it had been. Now…

Well, _now _Tom was really turned on but this did not seem the time and place to say so.

* * *

The party at Cindy's was starting to die down when someone yelled "OH MY GOD, guys, look what someone just uploaded to YouTube!"

Everyone with the right calibre of phone logged on and watched Barch laying the smackdown.

Jeffy's nerdy girlfriend yelled "YEAAAAHHHH!" in a rougher voice than normal and started to headbang. Nobody was sure how to respond until Cindy said "right _on!_" and started headbanging too, and then everyone was doing it.

* * *

Trent managed to look everywhere _but _Monique after the gig. "Um. You were good back there."

"You too," said Monique, blushing.

"I was lying before. I don't really think you're jealous."

"You're not in a rut."

"You want to go back to yours and, y'know?"

"YES."

* * *

_Punks,_ thought Mack darkly. _As soon as punks turned up, I knew it was going to go badly. Always with the punks. I tell you, if I_ never _see another punk again-_

He went into his house and there were his parents, dressed as punks and headbanging to something punk. They freaked when they saw him.

"MICHAEL! I-I- Look, we didn't want you to find out _this_way, but-"

Mack went back outside, a thousand-mile stare in his eyes.

_Punks. PUNKS._

_Oh god, if they're punks does this mean I'M GOING TO BECOME ONE OH GOD_

* * *

The next day, as everyone in Lawndale tried to simultaneously claim they were at Cindy's party _and _were at the dance when Barch let loose, Barch and Helen were back in court:

"And I again stress that last night's incident _proves _our case: Barch is a woman who knows when there is a threat to student safety and knows how to respond to it!"

"Foggy" Murdoch raised his hand. "Your honour, now that it's so clear to everyone that the jury is going to rule in Barch's favour, can I go home early instead of staying in court?"

"Objection!" cried out Superintendent Pascal.

"Sustained," said the judge.

"It was worth a try," said Murdoch.

* * *

The next evening, after Vinnie and Baz had agreed they were going to claim those bruises came from a fight with ten other guys (and they totally won), they went along to their favoured club in Lawrenceville, far from any witness in Lawndale.

The barman took one look at them and called down the manager, who informed them they were no longer welcome there. Or, for that matter, at any similar club in the county.

"We received a tip-off from a trusted source," he said, a man who'd dealt with the Morgendorffers before. "I was starting to wonder why some of the regular girls weren't coming back. People like you are _bad _for business."

Daria _was_ limiting her revenge. She hadn't contacted any clubs _outside _the county. Yet.

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story comes from a suggestion by Roentgen, who passed on an article about misogyny in the punk scene and asked what would happen if Killer Quinn had to deal with that. Mack finding out his parents were punks (revealed back in ep 11) and being worried he'd BECOME one was an idea from my girlfriend.


	31. Achy, Jakey Heart

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Ep 31: Achy, Jakey Heart**

Trent went downstairs and the demon struck him without warning.

Screaming, he flailed at the shrieking thing, his face cut; he fell to the ground, arms held out, Jane's voice in the background and thundering footsteps, and then the demon laughing.

The demon sure sounded a lot like his sister Penny.

"That's Chiquito. He's _very _possessive."

It turned out the voice of Penny Lane was coming from Penny Lane. The demon flew away and it turned out to be disguising itself as a parrot. That was when Trent realised:

"Oh yeah, Janey, there were some phone calls I kinda forgot about it. Penny's coming in from Costa Rica-"

"Damn volcano," spat Penny.

"-and Dad's coming back to print his photos of Celtic rock formations, and you're sending calls to my balls, yeah, calls to my – Hmmm. That should've gone on the other hand."

Trent mumbled off to correct his mistake, leaving Jane alone with her older sister. She looked at the woman warily; she hadn't seen her in a long time, and last she'd known Penny had been in Honduras, making crafts with the natives. The last few postcards had been a steady stream of complaints about the job market, the government, the weather, the natives, and gringos who kept going to Central America expecting it to be just like home.

"What's this about a volcano?"

"Goddamn lava took out my craft stand."

"Why were you selling near an active volcano?"

"I didn't know it was active, idiot! _Nobody_ warned me about, all I got was Trekkies gibbering about Vulcans – I can't rely on _anyone_, I got to remember that, I have to do things on my own!" (Said the woman who'd just come to the family house for free lodgings)

Jane would've snarked if the doorbell hadn't rung. Frowning, she crossed over, opened it, and found her father with a human wet tissue, all snivel and soggy and wails.

"Wind," she said to her brother. "What an unexpected treat." (She got to snark _someone_)

"Hey Janey!" said her father. "Come on, kid, group hug: Wind needs us right now."

"_I'LL NEVER LEARN HOW TO LOVE!_" cried Emo Itself made flesh.

Jane started to back away: "Uh, yeah, this seems like a male bonding thing. Don't want to get any estrogen in it!"

"NO WOMEN WANT MEEEEEEEEEE"

She shut the door (then opened again it after her father yelled "I think I left my keys in Connemara!") and headed for her room. There, she could make Edward Munch-style faces and get away with it. It'd been so _long_since anyone from the family had come home that she'd begun to forget how fucking annoying they all where.

Thundered roars of "LANE IN MY ASS! YOU'RE A LANE IN MY ASS!" came from Trent's room. She'd need the earplugs again tonight.

_Well, as long as no one else comes home at-_

And then her mother was on the landing, smiling as she listened to Trent expressing his anger at having the family around. "He's such a talented young man, isn't he?"

"Hey mum," said a surprised Jane. "When did you get in?"

"Oh, a few hours ago. I'd have told you I was here but I didn't want to disrupt your creative flows." Amanda Lane stroked her chin contemplatively. "Jane, did something happen to the fridge? When I last used it, it seemed… different."

"Trent bought a new one."

"Why did he do that?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"I may be wrong, but I think it was so we'd have a clean place to store food instead of a CDC container for weaponised salmonella."

"WHERE'S ALBERT?" screamed Wind from downstairs, having discovered the fridge didn't have the patch of dead mould on the roof.

"Yes, Trent should really have asked the rest of us before he did that," said Amanda, disapproving.

_I really hope someone else has a more embarrassing, irritating family than me_, thought Jane. _I think I'll call Daria later._

* * *

"Oh waaa waaa waaa, SHUT UP DILBERT YOU DECIDED TO SELL OUT YOU CAN WHIRL THE REAPWIND RAAAAAAR," opined Jake as he tore the newspaper into pieces and scattered it across the dinner table.

Helen and Quinn cheered. Erin blinked. Daria took advantage of the distraction to pinch some of Quinn's food.

"It's great to have this time together, it'll help my future therapist get himself a summer home," said Daria.

"When I said 'what does everyone think about the paper', I meant the front page story," said Erin.

"Ewwww, _reading_," spat Quinn. "That's _Daria's_ thing, we don't _have _to do it."

"What if it's something about being punk?"

Quinn started to give this matter serious thought. Jake was still huffing and puffing and spluttering in the background, and Helen told him "that's it, no more newspaper strips again, you know what it does".

"This happened before?" asked Erin, before answering herself with "of course it did".

"You're learning," said Daria. "Dad decided Jon Arbunkle was a representative of The Man and Garfield was being oppressed."

"What does that make Odie?"

"I think he decided Odie was a hippie."

Jake coughed hard.

"Daria," sighed Helen, "don't make your father sound like an idiot. You know perfectly well he said Odie was a raver."

"That makes all the difference."

"Hey, you know, it's the weirdest thing! I can't feel my arm!"

Daria glanced at her father, saying "what does-" and then stopped as she saw how red he was getting. "Dad?"

He fell face first into his plate.

Everything stopped.

She could hear her mother screaming.

She must have got out of her chair because she was at her father's side; Erin, pale and shaking, had pulled his face out of the food.

His breathing was faint. Chest barely moving. Getting fainter.

She remembered.

"Mum, get him on the floor, chest up." She wasn't sure how loud her voice was. She looked at the other women, Quinn frozen still, her mother hysterical, Erin- "Erin, call 911, tell them it's a heart attack."

What was next he was on the floor now what was next what was

Check breathing.

Agonal breathing now, probably. Okay.

Work out centre of chest. Both hands together, arms straight, _push._

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty.

Tilt head back. Pinch nose close, put mouth over his. Breathe twice.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty.

Two.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty.

Two.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty.

She should have asked Erin to watch so she could take over if her arms failed.

How long had it been?

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty.

Two.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty.

Two.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty.

She was talking, she could just about notice that.

"if you're just going to lie around the house all day you'll never get anywhere in life, why in my day we had walk a mile both ways if we wanted a nap"

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty.

Two.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty.

Two.

"everyone's going to say 'look, punk _is _dead', and then you'll feel bad"

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four

When had the paramedics come in?

She had to get clear – okay, her mother was pulling her clear. Fine.

Automated external defibrillator. Best chance of survival, an AED and prompt CPR.

Buzzcut had told them it would only work on four people in a hundred. Thirty in a hundred if AED was used in the first five minutes.

Zap.

Nothing.

How long had the ambulance taken?

Zap.

Nothing.

Zap.

Cough. Splutter.

Hand spasm.

"ALIVE HE'S ALIVE"

"Oh Christ." Daria slid to her knees, her arms numb. "Oh Christ. Oh Christ."

* * *

**HIGHLAND, TEXAS  
OCTOBER 30, 1997**

The tape starts. The guest bedroom we see is at a funny angle, finally righted with a tired grunt from the operator. The face of Amy Barksdale comes into focus, still sleepy.

"This is Awesomely Amy with a breaking Freaks, Geeks, and Phantasms (yawn)," she tells us. "You've wanted to know what the Morgendorffer household is like after midnight! The government wouldn't _let_ you know! Well, we're going to _show _you!"

The camera bounces along to a corridor and then within sight of a messy, cheap lounge. It zooms in. We see the figure of Jake Morgendorffer sitting on a second-hand, beer stained couch, gazing intently at a newspaper.

"If B.C.'s a caveman, _he can't know about Halloween you lying bastards RARRRRR!_" he spits, before tearing that page of the paper up.

Amy gives a half-heard mutter of "try again a different night", then moves the camera as if she's seen something. The new shot is of a toddler, approaching three years old, calmly stepping into the lounge with a book in one hand and a nervous-looking plastic dinosaur in the other (she struggles to hold the book): she looks tired and blinks behind large glasses, and she wears a little green dress that someone lovingly painted an anarchism symbol on.

The camera follows the young Daria as she toddles to the couch and then stops, looking up at Jake reading the remaining paper. She stares for a few seconds, and then quietly sits down on the floor and holds up the book like he does the paper. As she 'reads', we hear something from Amy that may be a chuckle and may be a slight cry.

The camera stays on this scene for four minutes and twenty-three seconds.

* * *

The four women waited in the hospital reception until someone finally came, the normally formidable Hellion Wheels now just a frightened woman who looked smaller than Daria remembered. When the doctor arrived, Erin stood up, looked to Helen, and stayed standing.

"While we won't know yet the extent of the damage, he _is _in a stable condition," the doctor told Erin. "I think he's through the worst of it."

"If… if there _is _damage, then how do we prevent it happening again?"

"That all depends. I hope you don't mind the question, but is there anything in his diet or lifestyle or his attitude that might have-"

"Do you want the full list?" asked Daria. "If we do it in daily instalments, you should have time to go home at night."

The doctor – everyone – looked stunned. "I-I'm sorry?"

"The heart was probably just rebelling and wants to be understood. We can negotiate with it."

Silence.

Daria got to her feet. "I-I need some air, I'll…"

She staggered to the exit of the hospital and, on leaving, fell back into the wall and closed her eyes. Already, her hands were working independently and reaching for her mobile. She dialled the number on pure instinct, the one she wanted – needed – to have.

"Hello?" Aunt Amy's voice, suspicious and frosty. "I'm at work. Make it qu-"

"Daddy's had a heart attack," she whispered.

Something high-pitched and involuntary – something born of old pain – came over the line. "I, oh god, I'll be, uh, where are you?"

"Cedars of Lawndale, it's… I'm not actually sure exactly. It's the main hospital-"

"I'll be there in I don't know, I'm coming now, I'll-" There was a final keening noise and the line went dead.

Daria opened her eyes and started dialling the next number.

* * *

"Did the Rapture happen to us on May 21st 2011 after all… and Heaven just turned out to _suck_? Paradise Shitty, a Sick, Sad World theological round-table!"

As Jane lay back on her bed and thought this through, an ill wind blew Wind into her room.

"Hey, Jane! How long's the living room TV been broken?"

"About two years, I guess," she said, not making eye contact with him. That would just encourage him.

"Do you mind if I watch a show in here? It's kind of a marital emergency."

"Actually-"

"Thanks."

Jane bit back a million angry replies and just left her room; "Wind" plus "marital" equalled "the crying game", except nobody had a pair. Well, maybe there'd be respite downstairs-

"No, _no_, _Senõr_ Finance Minister!" came the roar of Penny from, yes, downstairs, as she tried to convince a developing nation to give her money for trying to save them from being exploited by foreign gringos. (_I'm in a bad mood, _Jane thought to herself)

Her father, she saw, had taken over the upstairs bathroom – a tangle of power cables led into it.

"Hope you don't mind, honey, but I'll take me a long time to upload and format all these photos, and in case I had to go it just seemed smarter to-"

He had more to say but Jane left partway through. Trent was still playing loud and angry songs – "BUTTERFLIES SUCK AND GOT ME IN A RUT!" – so there'd be no help there. All she needed now was for her mum to tell her how everyone being an obnoxious, space-hogging jerk would sort itself on its own and give the speech about how, if you hold a butterfly in your hands, it will die-

Jane's phone ran and for a brief, terrified second, she thought _oh god she's CALLING TO TELL ME ABOUT THE BUTTERFLIES _before she saw it was Daria.

"Amiga, you just saved me from killing a whole load of peo-"

Everything stopped mattering in that second.

"Oh. Oh, Daria, I'm so sorry.

"Sure. Don't even have to ask. _TRENT!_"

* * *

The instant Jane had reached her, Daria had hugged her tightly and _that_ scared Jane more than the phone call had. She _never _showed that much need for intimacy in public.

Trent had gone into the hospital, white as a ghost and god, that was not a simile Jane wanted to think right now.

Daria wasn't crying. That was something she could hold onto. If Daria had been crying… Well, it wasn't that bad (_don't think "yet" don't_).

"You're missing a really good Sick Sad now," she said.

"I'll torrent it," Daria said. "The sweet thrill of piracy will make it even better."

"That's what they said about Somalia."

"I should've thought of that line." Her voice was weaker there, shaky.

"Daria, it's okay-"

"I should have thought of that. Why didn't I think of that?"

Jane could hear footsteps behind her; she turned her head slightly and caught sight of Tom. His eyes caught hers, an unspoken 'do I come in here?' in them. She nodded.

Tom hadn't look his usual at-ease self when he'd arrived, none of his usual sense of innate confidence and smugness. He looked smaller without it, just a teenager in thrift clothes. But when Jane nodded, he closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them he was more in control, calmer.

Pretending to be, anyway.

"Daria, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"So it was _you_behind the heart attack? You evil bastard." There was no mirth in that voice. "Don't think you're getting a birthday present this year."

His mask of control froze for a moment, and then he said: "I only planned to do an angina attack but then I thought 'go big or go home'."

"And if you get obese enough, you can do both."

Daria eased away from Jane and hugged Tom. His control held.

"Man, what do I get if someone _dies_?"

"Don't make me spoil the surprise."

"I may have heard wrong, but someone told me that the insides of hospitals are warm and have vending machines," said Jane, trying hard to keep her voice light.

"You'll believe anything, Lane. But there'll certainly be potential infections. Let's have a look."

* * *

Amy Barksdale arrived later, shaking and snivelling and when she was a metre away from Helen she burst into tears.

"D-D-Daria called and it was just like and I thought and and _aaaaaaa gaaaaawwwdddd_-"

The two women embraced and Helen began to cry too – suddenly, as if she felt she now had permission. Quinn barely noticed, staring into space with Trent's jacket around her. Trent himself was faring little better. Erin was pacing, tense and biting her lip.

"Our upper lips are as stiff as wet cardboard," said Daria.

"You called Aunt Amy?" Jane asked cautiously. After everything Daria had said about their fight at the wedding, she'd never expected…

"Yeah, she-" Daria fell quiet, her face losing its blank state and becoming desperate.

"You thought misery loves company?" said Tom quickly.

Daria returned to blank. "It's a party in my tear ducts and everyone's invited."

Amy's cries sounded worse than Helen's, and that was starting to worry Jane. "Um, so apparently your aunt was married to Jake all along?"

"Granddad Barksdale died when Mum was my age," said Daria. "Guess what of. Go on, guess."

_I actually wish she was crying. I am a horrible friend._"I figure he either cried to death or had a heart attack."

"Mmm. Trust me on this, never play Tori Amos' Winter in front of Aunt Amy."

Jane almost laughed. It wasn't funny, not at all damn funny, but it sounded like Daria had intended to make a joke – until she noticed the tightening around Daria's mouth, how she stopped looking over at her aunt.

_Why did I make that stupid comment about killing people, why, WHY-_

The doctor had come out and had a word with Erin. Daria's cousin nodded and then gestured for the teenagers to come over to the others, and gestured again for Helen and Amy to pay attention.

"The doctor just said that Uncle Jake's conscious but asleep, and he won't be awake until tomorrow. They don't really have room for everyone to stay the night but, um, I can and-"

"I'll stay," whispered Helen. "You can go on home."

"It's no trouble."

"Amy, could you… could you take the girls home?" On instinct, she raised a hand to silence Quinn and Daria; neither had made a sound. "Your father would want you to not worry and to get some sleep-"

"He'd probably scream a lot about how we have to carry on after he dies," said Daria.

Amy laughed, a desperate, half-crying laugh. "Yeah, yeah, that sounds just like him, oh dear…"

"Please," said Helen.

"Okay." Daria turned to Quinn. "Okay, sis?"

The terror of Lawndale gave a tiny nod.

On impulse, Jane said: "You know, our house is in a state right now, can Trent and I-"

Helen nodded.

"And I'm just too far away from home and don't fancy driving back," said Tom.

Helen asked Quinn if she wanted anyone to stay the night. Quinn's response was a whispered "dunno".

That ended that.

* * *

Amy was leading Daria and Quinn, hand in hand, to her car. Tom breathed out as he watched them go.

"I honestly didn't think I could have lasted another five minutes with… Jesus. Just… _Jesus_."

"You're staying the night too?" Jane asked him. "What about Fielding tomorrow?"

"What about it?"

* * *

Jake lay in the hospital bed, shrunken and hooked up to that beeping machine Helen couldn't remember the name of. He was actually _snoring_. She almost laughed.

"He'll be okay, Aunt Helen," said Erin. "He's a tough guy."

"Yeah." She stayed quiet for a while, just looking at her husband, before she asked: "His phone. They left on his bedside with his other things. Could you… I'm sorry to ask, but could you contact his family and tell them?"

* * *

Before they went to their respective cars, Tom asked Jane: "What _is _Winter? I didn't get the joke."

"Daria wasn't joking."

"What is it?"

"Winter is…" Jane swallowed hard. _Jake will be fine, he'll be fine-_"Winter is a song about a father's love for his daughter and vice versa, and there's a line… a line about he won't always-"

She stopped speaking.

Tom turned away. "Come on. Let's get to Daria's before the night's over."

* * *

Jane, at Daria's quiet insistence, was sleeping with Quinn that night. Tom lay on the floor of Daria's room, spare blanket around him and spare pillow below, staring into the dark and waiting for a sign that she'd fallen asleep.

Half an hour in, she said: "I don't believe in Heaven."

"He's not going to-"

"Maybe not this time, but. I know Aunt Amy believes in things. I wish… forget it. Good night."

It was a while before Tom got to sleep.

* * *

Jake woke up at 8.36 AM, and when he saw where he was he groaned "aww _crap_".

* * *

When Amy brought the girls in, Jake was sitting up in his bed and discussing things with an increasingly disturbed doctor.

"…and there's seven nights this year that I can't _remember_ that clearly, but I'm _pretty _sure from the evidence that I got really drunk and headbanged a lot, and in two cases I got into a fight but I know one of those was just for fun. (Nobody's come forward for the second, so your guess is as good as mine.) There'd be more but work piled up, y'know?"

"And you've been doing this for approaching _thirty years._"

"Yeah!" said Jake happily. "Punk's _never _gonna d-" He remembered where he was and his whole demeanour fell. "Umm."

"I'll… I'll have to discuss this with the rest of my department," said Dr Draver, a beaten man. "Whatever we decide, it'll include a _lot _of exercise. Moshing doesn't count as exercise."

Jake didn't reply to the departing doctor. When he caught sight of Amy, Daria, and Quinn, he looked worried for a split second and then smiled. Quinn ran over to grab him in a hug.

"Oh, hey kiddos! And, er, Amy, didn't you… er.."

"That was months ago, I'm living in the now," she replied, her joviality forced.

"I'm going to become a doctor, Daddy!" squeaked Quinn.

"Dr Quinn, medicine moron," mumbled Daria to herself (Amy gave her a brief, concerned look).

"That's great, Quinn! _Avenge my d-_Erm."

"It's nice to know that the experience hasn't changed you," said Daria.

* * *

At Helen's request, Amy had taken Daria and Quinn away for lunch; that meant they wouldn't be around when she (with Erin by her side) had to discuss things in Dr Draver's office. She didn't know what he was going to say. She might need time to compose herself and plan how to explain it to them.

"We understand that your husband's father has a weak heart?"

"Yes."

"But we have no record for your husband having his own heart examined."

"We never thought about it." (Jake had in the first hour after Mad Dog's first heart attack, going into hysterics at the thought he'd be next – then he thought about something else. They'd both forgotten after that. A mistake.)

"I have to be honest; the amount of stress his heart has gone through is _immense_. It was weaker than the average even before that. He's informed us about his routine and diet, and I'd insist he change both if he wants to put off another attack. However, and I'm sorry but I have to ask, is there anything else that-"

"He gets angry," she said. "_Very_angry, and suddenly. He's had that problem for as long as I know him. He didn't have the happiest childhood."

"Has he ever sought out therapy, or…?"

"We did once, at college. It didn't work out. After that, we… we got busy."

She felt worse with every sentence she said. Laid out like this, here and now, she could see that she'd fucked up. She'd been fucking up for thirty years.

* * *

Amy had recounted the time Sick, Sad World had been sued by the Mormon Church, but when Quinn went to the bathroom Amy let her levity drop.

"I heard the 'medicine moron' joke," she said.

Daria closed her eyes.

"When Daddy died, I didn't want to talk to anyone unless it was through my camera. I wanted to take it to the funeral, but Mum wouldn't allow it. Putting something between you and the pain so you don't have to focus on it."

"I know it's not healthy."

"I know what you're doing and I know why you need to. 'Healthy' doesn't come into things."

"You're not very good at this," said Daria, smiling slightly.

"Hey, I'm the official fuck-up of the family, sprat. You're with the wrong woman if you want something _useful_." She paused, then said: "Has Quinn called any of her friends yet?"

"No. I think she's scared they'll feel sorry for her."

* * *

Trent woke up earlier than planned, thanks to the noise of that bloody fucking Christ-damned parrot. His mind still foggy, he lurched through the house and thought he was _dreaming _when his father said "Trent, would mind being the flirtatious girl at the check-out counter?".

"Uhhh… I think I missed a context or something."

"We're trying to help Wind work through his emotional problems," said Vincent Lane, "and your mother and I find role-playing is a super way to do that. I'm going to be Katie, and then Wind and I will hit each other with foam bats."

"I'll try _anything _that will help," sniffled Wind.

Trent's mind caught up with a minute ago. "Flirtatious girl at the check-out counter?"

"Your brother had a bit of an accident."

"I'm busy," said Trent, colder than he intended to.

He went into the kitchen in time to hear his mother talking about getting "Trent's tent out of the attic" (he'd spent six months camping in the backyard to see if anyone would notice and invite him back in; his parents had just left him alone to 'do what he wanted' and Janie inviting him didn't count).

"Trent! Courtney and Adrian are coming for a visit! Isn't that great?"

"Does Summer know?"

His mother thought about that. "She should, shouldn't she?"

"Well, she's kind of their mother," he said flatly.

She hadn't asked him why Jane hadn't come home last night. He didn't feel like telling her.

* * *

Grandma Ruth would be stopping at the Morgendorffer house when she arrived in Lawndale, so she could meet up with them and be shown to the hospital. To Daria's surprise, she'd heard Aunt Eve was coming with her – she'd rarely seen her even _before _Cousin Finn's wedding, where her dad had been deliberately trying to nuke out bridges with that side of the family.

The two women were both dressed demurely and properly, but that was the only similarity: Grandma Ruth showed her age, while Aunt Eve looked younger than fifty at first glance. At second glance, the unwrinkled skin was due to makeup and her chestnut brown hair was a dye job and her eyes looked as tired as her mother's. At second glance, Daria thought, they looked the same after all.

Amy and Erin had left the hospital to look after the newcomers, but Amy had Ruth and Eve looking wary. They'd clearly met her before. Ruth turned her focus on her granddaughters instead, her smile slightly fixed when she looked at them.

"Daria and Quinn! You haven't changed a bit!"

"Actually, I've had a number of bionic limbs installed," said Daria.

"As long as you don't get a tattoo-" started Ruth before she looked at Quinn again and then just stopped.

"I'm studying to be a heart doctor now," said Quinn. "Then the next time Daddy collapses, I can save him."

"Oh Quinn, girls as pretty as you don't need to become doctors."

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "What does _that _mean?"

"Is Jake doing okay?" asked Eve, her voice naturally quiet.

"They're thinking about releasing him tomorrow night, which is either because they're sure he's doing okay or because of insurance reasons," said Amy. "I'll be nice and assume the former. He is awake and seems fine except for all the freak outs about his upcoming death, but for Jake that _is _fine."

"He's still… _high strung _then."

"It's quite endearing after a while," said Erin. Daria knew for a fact that Erin didn't find it endearing.

"I suppose." Eve sounded neutral, the voice of someone who was agreeing because someone else thought something.

The conversation fumbled and died. Erin was the only one that either family knew how to talk to. The whole thing was just uncomfortable, being stuck in a room with aliens you feel you should know but who simply were _other_. Eventually Amy suggested they head to the hospital and that gave everyone an excuse to break away.

* * *

When Ruth and Eve reached Jake, they found a scrawny, scruffy hooligan with an arm (consoling?) around him.

"The doctors gave him a diet and exercise plan and told him he can't keep staying up late rocking," said the stranger. "It's a bummer."

"And this medication _tastes like ASS!_"

"And that." He slouched off and held a hand out; Eve shook it to avoid a scene. "I'm Trent, Jake's my band's consultant. He's a cool guy."

The women gave polite 'hellos' and waited for him to leave before Ruth said: "You've still not moved into proper consulting? Oh, I'm sorry! That was rude, I mean, ah, _conventional_?"

"Ha! I won't wear a suit until I'm dead _oh GOD I'll be wearing a suit soon oh-_" Jake took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. "Morgendorffer Consulting's doing fine, Ma."

"But you could be doing even _better_! I don't mean to tell you how to run your affairs but when I… Anyway, how's my little Jakey doing?"

"Medication tastes like _ass_," he muttered. "And those bedpans feel weird."

"You can't leave the bed? But I thought-"

"I _can_ but if I don't _have _to…" He turned to Eve, a little unsure. "Uh, hey sis. How's… things?"

"Finn's a reservist in an NFL team and expecting his first born, and John's about to graduate. Ryan has been promoted to a new flight route." There was a pause before she realised he was waiting for her to talk about herself as well. "Nothing new at home. Oh, some of the other pilot's wives have formed a bridge club."

"Ryan's not coming down here, is he?"

"I asked but he said it would be really inconvenient for him to take the time off w-"

"THANK FUCK!" bellowed Jake, punching the air.

"Jake!" said a shocked Ruth. "That's your brother-in-law!"

"It's okay," said Eve quickly. "He has just…"

"It is?" Jake was confused. "I know _I_ think 'Captain I've-got-a-metal-penis Steele' is a twat but aren't _you _supposed to like him?"

"Oh _Jake_," his mother sighed. "Can we not be normal just this once? Your father hasn't carried on like this after his attack."

Jake looked away. "How much longer does he…?"

Silence.

"We don't know," said Eve, her voice breaking slightly. "It won't be long though. He can't… he can't even make it down here."

More silence, Jake's face unreadable.

* * *

Erin dialled the number and waited.

"Um, hi Dad. No reason, I just… I love you, Dad."

* * *

That night, Monique answered her door to find Jane and Trent. With suitcases.

"We're not picky, the manger will be fine," said Jane.

"What's happened?"

"Our family turned up," said Trent.

"Oh. Sure, stay as long as you need. I'm surprised you're here too, Jane."

She shrugged. "Daria's… her house is… You know."

Monique smiled sadly; Jake was her band's consultant too. "Yeah, I know."

* * *

Jake was going to come home the next day, after school – Daria and Quinn had been sent back there, Quinn under protest, since their father was out of the worst of it. Daria was actually _glad _to be back in school, it was a little sign of normality. (From what she could see, Quinn hadn't told her gang what was going on)

Jane had asked how the visit from Ruth and Aunt Eve was going.

"We're all too polite to openly acknowledge that we're strangers. How's your own family visit?"

"Me and Trent moved out, and after that the visit went pretty well."

Daria felt guilty. "I shouldn't complain, should I? They're strange but they care."

"Yeah, what sort of family is that?" muttered Jane darkly. "I used to think that this was _benign _neglect and it wasn't that big a deal, I was doing fine and other family's I saw were a different breed of fuck-up anyway, and then I saw yours and – I get jealous sometimes, Daria."

"You can have my grandfather. _We're _not using him."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "He's not contacted you?"

"Dad doesn't know I know, but I know for a fact that he _keeps_ his father from contacting us. I see my Dad daily and now I can see what his sister and mother have turned out like. I don't _want _my grandfather to contact us."

* * *

When Daria came home, she could overhear her Grandma Ruth playing the "here comes the airplane" game from her father's bedroom ("LIKE ASS, I TELL YOU! LIKE ASS!"). She decided to give that a wide berth and stuck to downstairs, where Amy, Helen, and Eve were trying desperately to have a conversation. (Quinn, to Daria's shock, was reading _a book_)

"Sick, Sad World seems an… odd career," said Eve, someone who obviously picked their words carefully. "What does your husband think?"

"They tended to think it was cool," said Amy. "But they had all sorts of _other _flaws to make up for it!"

"You've been divorced?"

The tone of that question was a bit too shocked. The conversation died until Helen noticed Daria and yelled "DARIA! How was school?".

"It was school," said Daria.

"Ask a silly question," smirked Amy.

"Your mother asked a question-" began Eve, before Helen waved a dismissive hand and said "Daria's right, her school sucks balls".

"On this we are in agreement," said Daria. "Let's be honest, this is not a less horrible topic than divorce. At least in divorce, you get to _leave_."

"I'll drink to that!" said Amy, raising her drink – "HERE HERE!" roared Helen, raising her own. Eve just looked aghast, but raised her drink anyway because the others were doing it.

Daria noticed that. Mad Dog had a lot to answer for.

* * *

Trent sneaked into the Lane house to fetch some more of his stuff – the kitchen was getting messier, Wind was still sobbing, and Chiquito was being chased around by Adrian and Courtney. He was glad to see the feathery bastard getting harassed but not so glad to see Summer was there ("GET AWAY FROM THAT ANIMAL, YOU BRATS!"). Still, he was just going in and out. What they got up to didn't matter.

They didn't really matter.

* * *

Jake tapped his fingers on his bed, trying to think of anything but… Anything but.

Mum had gone downstairs, where everyone else was. Nobody would be checking on him for a few minutes. If he _tried_not to yell, nobody would come in. It was the best chance he'd get.

_Gotta do it, Snake._

He took his phone and dialled his father.

"Jake?"

He forced himself to say "Dad".

"What is this about?"

"I wanted to talk to you. I might not get the chance again before… well."

The old man laughed. "You've had a _month_ to visit and _now _you call? Jesus, boy, make a decision and stick to it."

_Don't yell._"I changed my mind, dad. I thought-"

"You get hurt and then all that 'I'm not talking to you', 'you'll never see your grandchildren' tough guy talk goes out the window, you want your little boo-boo kissed, you want _absolution!_ I tried _so – damn – HARD _to stop you being a coward, to get you to stand up, and-"

"You're still never going to see your grandchildren again."

"…what?"

"You had your chance with them and you fucked it up."

"_This _was the reason you called? You phone me up just to-"

"No! You're my dad, I wanted-"

"When have you _ever_known what you wanted-"

"GOD DAMN IT CAN'T YOU EVER LET US BE A FAMILY? All I _ever_ got from you was disapproval and insults and being told to _toughen up_ but only in ways _you_ wanted, and I had to watch you running Mum's life and giving _her_ no approval either, and EVE! I could _say the fucking Holocaust was a good idea_ and she'd _agree_ with me because that's what she learnt a woman _does_, that's why every time we ever visited my sister I had to see her married to that- GAAAA, you know what it's LIKE knowing your firstborn is on the way and realising you have NO FUCKING CLUE what a father DOES or what a family is? I spent six damn years _terrified_ I was doing it wrong and the _only_ reason I know I'm _not_ is because I found out how you and that _bitch_ Edie were making Daria feel _that something was wrong with her_!

"I called because – oh fuck it, it doesn't matter!"

He ended the call and hurled the phone at the wall like he wanted to kill it.

It was a while before he stopped crying.

* * *

The women had gone as silent as the dead when they'd overheard Jake. By the end of it, Ruth had stood up and walked – if she'd been younger she'd have run – out of the house, not looking at anyone. Eve watched her go, almost stood up to follow, and sat back down again, looking at the kitchen table as if the pattern held a deep secret.

Helen looked to Daria, who stood ramrod straight and pale skinned. Amy touched her sister's hand, pointed upwards: 'go'. The punk gratefully headed upstairs to handle Jake, Amy moved in closer to Daria; all done in two seconds. Quinn had looked concerned but was going back to her book, so no _immediate _crisis. (A quick glance showed Erin was moving closer to Eve)

"Hey sprat. You want to-"

Daria nodded.

Amy led her niece into the back garden, out of sight and hearing of everyone else, and carefully drew her into a hug and waited for her to speak. (_Please not the deluge of sarcasm this time, not again…_)

"I didn't know," said Daria softly. "All that time when I was a child, he'd thought… I didn't know."

Amy stayed quiet. Every so often, Daria had complained about her parents to her. The usual angst most of the time, just blowing off steam, but sometimes the glimmer of actual discontent. She hadn't asked – and nobody had told her – what had happened with Daria's grandmother over the last few months, but from what she remembered from before the wedd- _before_, she'd bet the discontent had come up. The feeling that her parents were doing everything wrong and were too blind to see.

And now this. She knew Daria. She knew there'd be guilt. She didn't want to put Daria on the spot about it.

"My dad never told me how he'd felt," said Amy. "Nobody who'd known ever told me when he, y'know. I like to think he'd never felt doubt and that he knew he was a great dad, but if I'm honest he _must_ have been afraid at least sometimes. Having to _make a person?_ When so many people fuck it up? Yeah, he must have. But you don't know this when you're a kid, nobody tells you. You're not _meant_to know."

"He really didn't know what he was doing. I wasn't whining after all, I had ESP all along."

_Damn it. _"Daria, your parents aren't going to blame you for thinking what every teenager does."

"When they were teenagers, they were _right_to think it. It turns out I just didn't know what-"

"Sprat, come on now. I love Jake but if I started to list his flaws we'd be here all night. He's not perfect and there's nothing wrong with you because you've noticed this before."

Daria snorted. "It's alright to insult people after all? Can you tell my teachers this?"

"I'm not a miracle worker, Jim."

"I'm… I'm glad you came back, Aunt Amy."

"You're family."

* * *

Jake cried Helen's arms; she held onto him tightly, hoping this could help, that she could _something_to help.

It was five minutes before he was finished. Another minute before he spoke.

"Everyone heard that, didn't they?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Awwww _crap_. Did Mum-"

"Yeah."

Jake sighed. "I should try and find her. But after that, I don't think she's going to want to… well, damn it, I'll _try_." Pause. "Eve?"

"I caught a glimpse of Erin talking to her."

He smiled. "That's good. Erin's been there too. She can help. That's what families are supposed to do, right?

Helen thought back to her own family, after her father had died. "Supposed to, yes."

* * *

"What I find helps," said Erin, "is getting so drunk I forget I'm related to _anyone_. Do you have any particular preference?"

"Whatever you're having," said Eve.

She took two cans of the nearest drink from the fridge and handed one to the tired woman. Eve took it but didn't drink.

"Nobody thought much of my fiancé either," Erin said, making an opening. "Nobody ever said it to my _face_ but they thought I was being stupid to marry him. Now, in my case they were _right_, but I know what it's like to be the one everyone's quietly pitying and laughing about."

"I have three kids and Chloe is still at home," she whispered. "They need a father."

"That's why?"

"I vowed 'til death do us part' and enough people get divorced as it is." The voice was snapping but it didn't sound like Erin was the one she wanted to convince. "My parents understand this. Nobody else ever acts like they do."

_Oh god, Daria would have a field day with that._"I guess they must be proud that both their children have been married for so l-"

Eve laughed. "That's not quite how they see Helen. To be perfectly honest, I never really go on with her." She shrugged. "But Jake seems happy."

Nobody asked whether he thought _she_was happy, but both of them heard it. Her silence was answer enough.

"Why are you talking to me?"

"We're family. Sort of. I guess." Erin held up her arms, the universal 'beats me' gesture. "Well, I'd like to try and be."

"I don't think Ryan would approve of you," but Eve was smiling slightly when she said it.

* * *

Jake and Helen found Ruth and brought her back to the house, but she refused to say anything about why she'd left or what she'd overheard.

While they were gone, Daria heard Quinn snarl in anger: "This book is pissing me off! Use smaller words, you asshole!"

She walked into Quinn's room: "Dr Seuss strikes again?" she asked, and then she saw the book that had been flung aside.

Thrombocytopenic Complications After Stent Placement Post-Coronary Artery Angioplasty.

Quinn seriously wanted to learn to be a doctor. And she couldn't. Daria suspected that her sister was brighter than she allowed herself to be but not bright enough for _that_, and not with her grades in such a mess. Quinn should know this – normally, she would know this. But under the circumstances-

"I'll help you find an easier book," said Daria, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

* * *

Trent and Jane sneaked into the house the next day, wanting to see if it was safe to come back. They quickly established both Penny had left (the lack of parrot screeches made it obvious), and Jane quickly found out from little Courtney why: Summer had turned up, and a single day together was enough to get rid of her. From the sound of arguing, either Wind or Summer was about to drive Summer/Wind off next.

"If Mum doesn't leave soon, me and Adrian are gonna run away back home," said the girl solemnly. "I wish you and Uncle Trent had been here."

"_We_don't," said Jane. She was about to leave, when she abruptly said: "If it's okay with Trent's girlfriend, you want to stay somewhere that isn't here? Because she lives somewhere that isn't here! (And I guess if Summer's fine too, whatever)."

Both Courtney and Adrian made it very clear they'd love to – and probably wouldn't ask their mother first – and Jane and Trent headed back to Monique's. On the way, Trent looked at her with his eyebrow raised.

"A conscience is a terrible thing," she explained. "Besides, all I know about what a family does is from this one guy who taught me that you look out for the tykes, because nobody else will."

"Huh. Who was that?"

"Someone you know very well, Trent."

"_Oh_. Yeah, Nicky was always responsible like that with his son."

Jane hid a grin. "Aha, yeah."

* * *

The following day, Daria and Jane's walk home from school was interrupted by a running Jake Morgendorffer. Well, a half-dead, limping, gasping-for-breath Jake Morgendorffer.

"Exercise… _bites_…" he gasped.

"I have this crazy idea, but it might go easier without the black leather and heavy boots," said Jane.

"But then I'd look _stupid!_" said the man with a green Mohawk drooping from sweat.

When the girls had gone their separate ways and the Morgendorffers were heading up to the front door, Jake suddenly turned to his daughter and said: "Um, yesterday, when I… er… talked to-"

"They heard you back in Highland, Dad."

"Aw _crap._"

Daria was surprised to find herself hugging him. She stayed like that for a second and then quickly separated.

"Uh, let's pretend I didn't do that. You've done an okay job, Dad." _For someone whose family wasn't, you've taught me a lot about what a family _is.

"Thanks, kiddo!" His face took in a conspiring look. "It's the funniest thing, but at the hospital they said someone gave me CPR and-"

Daria looked away. "Um. You're not going to hug _me_, are you?"

"I'm _proud _of you, Daria."

There was a long, embarrassed pause before the girl muttered out "Um, so, er, Grandma and Aunt Eve are going home soon I guess? Not that I'm changing the subject or anything. Nope."

"Probably tomorrow. I was thinking that we should do something, y'know, family-ish before they go, but I mentioned The Zon to your grandma and-"

"Dad, I think you should leave this one with me. And I'm going to leave it with Tom, and he'll leave it with his parents and they'll know somewhere."

The two of them went in together.

* * *

Trent was showing Adrian and Courtney how to play the opening chord to Come As You Are – and from what Monique remembered, they were learning it faster than _Trent_had when he'd started. She shook her head at the sight and turned to Jane.

"How did he learn that?"

"Sheet music."

"No, I mean…" She gestured at the children.

"Oh, _that_. I dunno how people like him learn what a family does, but I'll tell ya, I'm damn glad they do because if he hadn't, then…" Jane shook her head. "If I had a glass of something, I'd do something cheesy like raise it and say 'to the family men'. We dodged a bullet there."

* * *

**HIGHLAND, TEXAS.**  
**NOVEMBER 1, 1997**

The video starts abruptly, like the camerawoman had been surprised by something. The beleathered and pierced man is carefully holding both a small girl and a book; the girl is tired but trying to concentrate in that fierce way only a three year old can do, and she holds up a green plastic dinosaur so it can 'read' too.

"Tyrannosaurus Rex was the biggest predator in the-" The punk narrows his eyes. "The Cre-tacky-oh-us-"

"The Cree-tay-shus Period," says the girl in a low, raspy voice. "It means Chalk Period in Latin."

"_Oh!_Thanks, kiddo!"

The girl gives a little smile.

"-the Cretaceous Period, and its name means King of the Tyrant Lizards…."

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: During the original serialisation, this fic was first called "Lanes In The Butt" so nobody would see the heart attack coming – the proper name was edited in afterwards. Sadly, that can't be done with the collected version!

The CPR is, as of 2011, the current recommended procedure. You can also just do chest compressions without stopping if you can't do/don't want to do the breaths, but the 30-2-30-2 model worked better for the fic. (Daria should know CPR because she was shown how to do it in Beavis and Butt-head's "Water Safety" episode) Agonal breathing is the remaining air escaping from your lungs: it's shallow and not got a rhythm.

Originally, BC was in the present (a punk version of "HOW CAN HE CELEBRATE ASHG WEDNESDAY?" from Lane Miserables) and Dilbert in the past, but Roland 'Jim' Lowery pointed out that BC had become less religious by 2011. After swapping the gags around, I realised I'd have to change Jake's issue with BC too since Lent isn't in October…

Amy's dad issues come from Brian Taylor's Moving Pictures, and he came up with the Winter idea; "Captain Steele" is borrowed from the Slacktivist blog's skewering of the Left Behind books, except I accidentally called him "Ryan Steele" after the VR Troopers guy.

Nothing's going to date this fic more than the reference to the "THERE'LL BE A RAPTURE IN MAY 2011 oh whoops" guy, will it?

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME…**

"Girls, I just want you to know your mother and I realize it's not easy moving to a whole new town - especially for you, Daria, right?"

The scrawny figure - all piercings and tight leather under a long, badge-covered green trenchcoat, her hair a mess with shaved areas and black spikes – gave a death glare through her huge, nerdy glasses.

"All my fucking stuff gets taken here whatever _I_want and I follow on if I want to have some clean knickers. That's pretty easy."

Jake gave a weak laugh. "I'm just saying you don't make friends as easily as... uh, some people."

Daria looked at Quinn. Quinn "eep!"ed and slid further down in the car seat.

"The point is," carried on Jake with desperation, "the first day at a new school is bound to be difficult-"

She'd turned on her iPod partway through his speech and was now headbanging & growling out "drinking beer in the – hot sun! I FOUGHT THE LAW AND – **I WON!**!"

The car pulled up outside the school, and everyone turned to look as Quinn exited.

"Hi! You're cool. What's your name?"

"Quinn Morgendorffer."

"Cool n-" Sandi stared in horror as the Anti-Fashion emerged from the car. "Ker-winn, what is _that?_"

"She's in witness protection and we have to pretend she's my sister," Quinn said quickly.

Sandi blocked Daria and said, eyes narrowed, "I can't even buh-_gin_ to start explaining what is _wrong_ with your look, but geez, what is _with_ those glasses, they just _clash._Get contacts or-"

Daria headbutted Sandi and she went down with a broken nose.

"I BLEW GEORGE AND HARVEY'S BRAINS OUT WITH MY – _SIX GUN!_" declared Daria as she headed off.


	32. Nuts to Work

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Episode 32: Nuts to Work**

"Oh yeah, there's some stuff for you to read."

The class looked at Steve expectantly.

"Career... er… career aptitude tests, that was it." He pointed at the stack at papers. "Eh. If you really care, they're here."

Ever since Ken Edwards had been drop-kicked in the face (and also fired), Lawndale High hadn't had a regular English & Language Arts teacher – for budget reasons, they'd had to go with whichever security guard was awake at the time of the lesson and whatever (if anything) they had on them. Daria's class had studied an eclectic mix of Loaded, World War Terror: Assault on Istanbul, Biker Babes Biweekly, and Finnegans Wake.

Kevin went up, took the nearest test result, and went "cool, I'm going to be a rock star!"; then he realised his name wasn't on the paper and gave it to Jane instead.

Daria looked at Jane in confusion; "I got bored and thought it'd be fun to give the answers Trent would give," Jane explained. "I'm as shocked as you are, I thought it'd say 'freelance bum'. Want to see yours?"

"No."

"_I _do."

As she went up, Kevin found his at last: "Petroleum dispen… dispensation? _Whoa! _I'm gonna be an oil tycoon!"

"I'm going to be a cheerleader!" said Brittany, looking at hers. "That's _great! _I won't need to change my outfits!"

"Freelance bum?" said Shaggy.

Jane found Daria's and skimmed it. And winced. "Amiga, if you know what this says, you'll get upset and worried. So I'm going to tell you. You're a mortician." If looks could kill, Jane would've been Daria's first customer. "I'm not joking, I swear to god."

Daria grabbed the test from her friend and read it. "'Your lack of interest in human interaction makes you an ideal candidate for working with the dead.'" Pause. "I feel insulted but I can't think of a single rational rebuttal."

"Anything irrational?"

"'The dead had your mum for a nickel.' That's not very good. 'You mother's so dead, she stays all _under _the room.' No, that's bad too. Should I go for three bad jokes in a row?"

Jane waited.

"Damn, I can't think of anything that isn't funny," said Daria. "Oh well."

Ahead of them, Andrea took her results, stared, and cried out: "Security guard?"

Steve held out his arm for a bro-fist. "Knucks."

* * *

"Here are the RESULTS of your career aptitude tests. PerHAPS they'll help you avoid whiskey-soaked DECADES wondering what MIGHT have been if only you'd had the GUTS to follow your DREAM of a life at sea!"

(Joey sat bolt-upright, thinking _how did he know about that?_)

DeMartino made his way down the class before scowlingly handing Quinn's results back. "I WOULD ADvise you to pay ATTENTION to this and change your WAYS, but I only have SO MUCH time to PISS AWAY!"

Quinn looked at it. "Petroleum dispensation? _Eww!_ I can't be a _fatcat fascist!_"

Sandi and Tiffany, meanwhile, were basking in the knowledge that they would become neck models. Stacy was looking at her sheet again, just to double check; no matter how hard she concentrated, the sheet was still blank except for a question mark.

"I'm a neck model too!"

"Oh," said Sandi, disappointed.

* * *

Tom and Daria's date at the arcade went downhill when, in all innocence, he asked if she wanted to play House of the Dead.

"All the more reason to play House of the Dead," he said when she'd explained her irritation. "Show them who's boss."

* * *

Quinn knew she had to take action – harsh, decisive action – to negate the test's threat. But she couldn't headbutt or glass anyone over this (she didn't know where the test dude lived) and that had thrown her for a bit.

She remembered a teacher telling them that brainstorms could help you think, so she started one. FUCK OIL FATCATS was written in the centre, and from it she began listing reasons why ("cos they suck!").

Then she wrote down "they're rich". She looked at that sentence again, and carefully added "poor people =/= rich". Then "why?".

Then, lightning striking her mind, she wrote "cos they have sucky jobs".

"If I have a sucky job, they'll never let me into Big Oil!" Quinn grabbed the nearest student ("I'm flattered but don't think of you that way, Killer," said Jackie). "YOU! What's the shittest job in the whole mall?"

* * *

The Nutty Nut World manager scowled at Quinn. "Frankly, I'm not _happy _about this, Ms Morgendorffer."

Quinn looked behind herself before working out he meant _her _and Daria hadn't sneaked in round the back.

"I may need employees but they need to have the right qualities. I don't want any slackers, I don't want any delinquents, and I don't want any _incidents_ at work- I'll give you one shot, but you'll need to _shape up_. I need people with work ethic, who can handle a job this demanding-"

Kevin entered the room, waving. "Hey, hey, how's it going? I'm here to apply for a job."

"Can you bag nuts?"

Kevin thought about that. "Sure!"

"You're hired."

_Oh shit, how do you bag nuts?_ thought Quinn. _I think I can put nuts in a bag but what about the rest of it? AAAAA! NO FUTURE!_

* * *

"Each customer must be greeted with our trademark slogan: "Welcome to It's a Nutty, Nutty, Nutty World. We're just nuts about nuts! Crunch nuts with your lunch. Buy them by the bunch. Send them to friends far away to munch." Now repeat that so I know you've learned it."

Kevin and Quinn met this formidable task with every bit of mental power they could summon.

"Have some nuts. Crunch munch nuts. World of..." Kevin thought it through. "..nuts!"

"Welcome to Nuts Nuts for your lunch, something friends something else munch repeat nuts…" Quinn finished, sweating like a fat horse in central Paris.

"You almost had it," lied the manager. "Try again, after me – Welcome to It's a Nutty, Nutty, Nutty World!"

"_NO FUN! THIS IS NOOO FUUUUNNNNNN!_"

The manager stared at Quinn. Quinn stared at the manager.

"I got _nervous_, alright?"

The manager decided wussing out was the better part of valour, and said: "You'll pick it up as you go. Just don't forget to smile. Remember our guarantee: "If we don't smile, the nuts are free." And those free nuts come out of your paycheques."

"Do we have to smile if the customer's someone in a suit?"

"_Yes_."

"But they're _Fascists!_"

Kevin scratched his head, which admittedly he'd have done if Quinn had said something sensible. "I thought they had to wear more stuff than just suits and follow sports seasons and stuff?"

Quinn worked this out (it took a minute). "That's fashionistas."

"Oh. What's the difference?"

"Hmm…"

* * *

The manager finally let Kevin and Quinn roam around unsupervised, reminding them to smile or the nuts would be free. They immediately helped themselves to nuts when he was gone, Kevin because he didn't understand what had been said and Quinn because he was a manager so sod him.

A few would-be customers headed for the stand, caught sight of Quinn, and headed right back the way they came. Half an hour went by, and the only relief from boredom she had was to stick peanuts up her nose.

Finally, a man in a suit came along, who frankly thought _all_teenagers were violent hoodlums anyway. "Gimme a bag of almonds."

"We're out of almonds." (She was standing behind a clear tray of almonds and behind a clear barrel of almonds, and since nobody would lie that blatantly the man didn't see the almonds) "We've got some really good peanuts though."

"Oh, very well."

Kevin stared in amazement as the sale went through. "_Whoa! _You did it! You sold a bag of nuts!"

"I rule."

* * *

An hour later, while waiting for the bus, Quinn had to headbutt and kerbstomp a group of ravenous/amorous squirrels.

"THEY STARTED IT!" she yelled at a small, crying child and its parents.

* * *

At dinner, Helen gave Jake a beady-eyed look. "Snake, honey, did you put peanuts in the stew?"

"Fuck yeah! I just got the inspiration from… _somewhere…_"

Quinn sighed. "Al_right_, I'll have a shower-"

"This early in the month?" said Daria, not looking up from her book.

"-but I started work at a nut stand and it, like, makes you smell like nuts! Are all jobs like that or just nut stands?"

Erin giggled. "Ha! Good one, Quinn."

"It fucking isn't, it's a crap job."

Erin coughed on her food and Daria _looked up _as it registered with both that Quinn wasn't telling a joke and really did have a job.

"You've got a job?" Helen beamed. "That's wonderful, Quinn! Once you have your own independent income stream, you can have greater quantities of and more elaborate piercings and leather – and none of The Mans can _stop you _when it's your money!"

"The tax Man," said Daria.

"Daria, don't upset your sister."

"I didn't think of that," said Quinn. "_Wow!_ Having a job _KICKS ASS!_ Well, okay, no, it _SUCKS_ ass but the _money_ kicks ass like—like-" She scrambled for a suitable analogy. "Like someone _kicking an ass!_"

"YEAH! Money ROCKS!" roared Jake, pounding the table.

"But what brought this on?" asked Erin, a look of utter confusion on her face. "I mean, it's _work_."

"Career aptitude tests came in at school," said Quinn. "I had to take steps."

"What did you get, kiddo?" Jake asked Daria.

"Mortician," she said, before realising that this was the second worst thing she could have said to a man that had recently had a near-fatal heart attack (the absolute worst was "health insurance executive"). She realised this when her father screamed "GAAHHHH!" and leapt up, knocking his food all over everyone else.

"NO, Daria! I say thee FUCK NAY! Don't let them _force you_ to work on the corpse of your old man! Don't…" He suddenly realised this wasn't the way a father should behave. "Er… not that I'm saying I think you'd do a bad job. Hell no, you'd do a _bitching_ job as a mortician!" There, that was better. "In fact, I'd love for you to work on my corpse! You _shall_ work on my corpse! _Helen, I need to revise my will again!_"

"After dinner, Jake," she sighed, safe in the knowledge that he'd forget about it within five minutes (as he had about having his butt put on a pike outside Wall Street, forever mooning it). "Forget what the test said, Daria, you can be whatever you want to be."

"Taxman?"

"_Daria._"

* * *

The next day, Quinn awoke and saw her reflection in the mirror and screamed "OH NO I'M DYING!" before she realised it was a rash and she wasn't melting.

Her father, still in pyjamas, kicked down her bedroom door, roaring out "_I'M THE ONE YOU WANT, AZRAEL YOU BASTARD!_"; he saw his daughter, went "_ewwww-ww-www!_", and backed away.

They took Quinn to the hospital and it was soon discovered that she had an allergy to pistachio dye. By this point, the rash had gotten really bad – "ewwww" said the doctor – and it looked like she'd need an overnight stay, until a nurse came in with an apologetic look and the news that their insurance company, ever since it had seen the bill for Jake's treatment, was playing "I See No Ships" with their account.

They went back home and Quinn was forced into bed while Helen phoned up the insurance firm for a calm discussion, one where the first words were "You fucking twats!". It was a crisis indeed. Quinn was pretty sure that she couldn't keep her job if she had a rash and it'd get worse; a walking rash would not be a great advertisement for food.

_Maybe I should get a different sucky job. Except… except_ Kevin _would still have this job. I can't lose at something to Kevin. Except football. I mean, duh. But apart from that. I have to WIN._

When Daria came in from school, Quinn called her in for help. Daria walked into the room, looked at Quinn, said "hang on", took off her glasses so she wouldn't be able to see Quinn, and said, "shoot".

"You're a brain, sis: how can I keep my job when it gives me a rash? I _need _that job, damn it – if Kevin can have a job and I can't, then that means-" Quinn couldn't even bring herself to say it.

"That would be bad. Hmmm." Unable to see a sensible solution, Daria decided to give her sister a stupid one to see what would happen. "Hazmat suit."

"_Suit?_"

"Let me rephrase that."

* * *

Kevin was new to this job and still unclear about some of the specifics, but he was sure that you weren't allowed to wear arm-length leather gloves, a gas mask, and a should-be-tight-but-is-actually-baggy-and-floppy leather one-piece under the uniform.

Well, almost sure. Kind of.

"Hey, you can't smile with that on!" he realised.

Quinn took a nearby marker pen and drew a smile onto the mask. "mffffmffmf," she said.

"Oh. Cool."

As Quinn went to work, Daria, Jane, and Tom took up their posts where they could see Quinn but not vice-versa. Jane had a bag of popcorn and a camera ("for my grandchildren").

"Where did you get all of that on such short notice?" Tom asked Daria.

"There were things about my parents that I'd rather not know about. Oh look, a potential customer."

Someone walked to Nutty World and then _ran _off after seeing Quinn. Person after person did the same thing; one visiting nun threw holy water at Quinn and made the sign of the cross; Brittany visited to harangue Kevin about how he'd been seen smiling at other women and managed to avoid noticing Quinn for fifteen seconds before her brain caught up with her eyes ("If I catch you giving more than one smile to a customAAAAAAAIIIIII").

"I am going to put this online and pretend it's conceptual art," said Jane.

Daria checked her watch. "Five minutes and counting."

"Time flies when you're having fun," said Tom.

"Not that. I'm just seeing how long it takes before the inevitable… ah, there we go."

Cindy and her Goth friend Kristen Leung had been mooching about in the mall for a while now, and now they were in the perfect position to see the nut stand. Kristen looked with awe and went over for a better look.

"Hey! Welcome to Lunch Munch, we're just friends about nuts-"

"Mfffmfmfmfffff"

"Oh, you're selling something? Um, I'll take some peanuts then-"

Quinn shook her head and wrote down "peenuts BAD". Kristen shrugged and went with the pistachios instead ("mmrrrfff"). By this point, two more Goths had seen Quinn and were coming over too.

"I've had a theory for years that whatever Quinn does and wherever she is, _someone_from a counter-culture will see her and think she's cool, causing her to profit," said Daria. "I now have enough evidence to say this is a law of physics."

"Ten bucks says the nut stand becomes a Mecca for the Dark Hordes in an hour," said Jane.

"Ten bucks say it becomes a Mecca in forty minutes," said Tom.

"Half an hour," said Daria.

Daria won. Also, the police were called in thirty-one minutes (an old person had panicked).

* * *

"_Never_ have I been so _humiliated!_" snarled the manager, his eyes boring into Quinn's mask. "The _police_ of all things! It's A Nutty, Nutty Nutty World will end up in the Lawndale Sun Herald and _over this! _Our regional headquarters are freaking out! I'm disgusted with you. On a related note, congratulations! You're our first Salesperson of the Day!"

"mfmfmfmfffff"

* * *

A few days later, after the first batch of Hell's Angels turned up and Kevin was brutally beaten after he smiled at a biker's girl (and then by the girl when he protested "but they MAKE me smile, I don't wanna!"), Nutty World hired Morgendorffer Consulting to advise them on how to handle their new markets. On Jake's advice, a sign was put up giving the day and shift patterns that That Scary Masked Girl was working, so one market knew when to turn up and the other knew when _not _to turn up.

Quinn got a pay rise, and knew that she had to be responsible with this sort of money. So she got a really _big _tattoo on her belly of a flaming skull.

"Bitching!" exclaimed her dad when she showed it off at dinner.

"Good work, honey!" said Helen.

"Don't you have to be older to get one?" spoil-the-partied Erin.

"Yeah but Axl said he knew Mum and Dad so I didn't have to be, and he'd know the law, right?"

Daria mentally filed this away for the paper she was writing on the Law of Quinn's Inherent Annoyingness.

* * *

A week in, Daria got curious and finally asked Quinn what the career aptitude test had said.

"Petroleum dispensation," she muttered in disgust. "I couldn't let myself work for Big Oil, I had to work a crappy job so nobody would want me!"

"Quinn, that meant you were going to work in a gas station."

"Ohhhh! Thank _god!_" She pretended to wipe her brow to show her relief.

"Let me guess. This means you don't need to work anymore."

"Yeah, but I think I'll keep doing the job – there's something about it…"

"The money."

"Yeah, that's it! The money! I _like _having money! I'll keep at the job until I can afford a really big tattoo for my back, I mean I have to start investing and shit, right?"

Ten minutes later she told Daria: "I quit that stupid fucking job."

"Something earth-shattering must have happened in the last ten minutes. And I mean that. It _must _have."

It turned out that Quinn had gone online and found out that The Scary Masked Girl was the new store-wide mascot for Nutty, Nutty, Nutty World and would be 'appearing' at stores across the States. You could also get (cheap Cafepress-made) T-shirts of Scary Masked Girl for far too much money.

"They sold me out on my behalf, Daria! _Sold me out! _It goes against everything I stand for."

Daria decided to experiment: "They might owe you royalties over this. You could take them to court-"

"But then everyone would know it was _me _making a company richer," said Quinn, in the tones of someone talking to a blithering idiot.

"Look on the bright side. You learned a valuable lesson about the world of work and how businesses function. Now you can make a rational decision and sponge off welfare instead." A new angle on the experiment occurred to her. "That said, if you're still interested in selling your soul for minimum wage, I do know of another job…"

* * *

"You've got to take special care of the animals," the pet store owner told Quinn. "Believe me, when you neglect them-" He pointed to a recent bandage over his ear. "they don't let you forget it."

"I didn't know _animals_ could fight the man." Quinn stared at the adorable little canaries with a new reverence. "You guys _kick ass!_"

Around the corner, Daria, Jane, and Tom waited with the camera. Daria checked her watch: "One minute and counting…"

THE END

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME…**

A large, large gap had formed between Dire Daria & Jane and everyone else in the party. It was instinctive: wherever Daria went, a two-metre gap would open up. As soon as she noticed this, she'd headed for the snack table.

"Flat and ridgy chips, that's _it?_Fucking weak."

"You're eating them," pointed out Jane.

"I _can_." Daria took out a vodka bottle from her pockets and took a swig. "Want some?"

"No-ooooo. And you say you got an invite by...?"

"Brittany asked me to headbutt Kevin if he started messing with some other bitch."

"Like he's doing now."

"I know." Daria belched. "I'm going to slip a Fear CD into the radio, cover me-"

Her movement was cut off by the arrival of the third most unpopular person at the party: "Chuck Ruttheimer, here," he sleazed, "I'll be your social director for this-"

Daria smashed the vodka bottle over his head. "Get that stitched." (Several nearby girls cheered)

Jane stared in horror as Upchuck fell down. "_Daria what the hell?_"

Dire Daria followed her gaze: "Oh Christ," she said, aghast. "I forgot that was a full bottle! _DAMN IT!_"


	33. A Headbutt of Dollars

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Episode 33: A Headbutt of Dollars**

It was high noon. Daria, tense and focused, the enemy in sight. The enemy featureless and dark. One would stand, one fall.

Without taking her eyes off, she went for the radio.

_"I'm abaaaaht to have a nervous breakdown!"_

The driving instructor stared at the car radio, then at her.

"My parents told me this would get me quote in a take-no-crap, psyched-up mood unquote and after four failed tests, I'm desperate enough to try it. In retrospect, I picked the wrong song."

The time was reached; eyes locked, Daria went for her metaphorical guns. The literal enemy, the dreaded parking space between two other cars, struck back with its crampedness, but she struck first. She parallel parked the shit out of it.

"My parents have been right about something," muttered Daria in horror. "Good Lord. Maybe Bush _did _assassinate Dee Dee Ramone."

(PS no he didn't)

* * *

Once she'd officially passed and gained her driver's license, her parents held a massive party in celebration. Jane, the Spiral, Tom (on sufferance), random members of Quinn's gang, and even more random people her parents knew – they'd turned up on grounds that it was a Morgendorffer party, only two of them knowing what the party was for (and they'd congratulated Quinn). Erin was also there, but she lived there and had to be.

To Daria's lasting mortification, her parents had even baked her a cake. The cake was in the shape of a car, a car that had been vandalised and set on fire.

The cake was also frozen.

"I don't want to sound ungrateful," she lied, "but it looks kind of old. Much like the Parthenon."

"We, ah…" Her mother racked her brains for a polite way of saying 'we baked it when you took the test the first time, you failure'. "It's made of chocolate!" she said, giving up.

"Do we wait for it to thaw out?" asked Erin.

"But I'm hungry now!" cried one of her parent's friends, and soon everyone joined in the upset clamours – including Jane. ("What? I'm hungry.")

Quinn sighed – "I'm gonna fucking _have _this cake and then eat it!" – and headbutted the cake, breaking it open. Everyone cheered.

Daria took a large piece and sidled over to Jane. "I don't know how she avoids brain damage. Actually, no, I'm not sure if she has."

"Mffmfmfmf," said Jane, mouth full of cake.

Tom came over and handed Daria a bumper sticker as a present. "Sorry, it was short notice and I panicked."

"'Kerry/Edwards 2004.'"

"Oh. I wondered why that was on a discount."

Jane swallowed her food. "It's the thought that counts."

"I'm glad you said that for me," said Tom.

"Nah, I was changing the subject. I only thought about getting Daria a present."

"There's a reason I'm antisocial-" began Daria, before Quinn yelled "FOOD FIGHT!" and the collected punks started throwing cake at each other. "_Several_reasons I'm antisocial."

"Hey, cheer up, only a few more hours and you're free."

Mystik Spiral had a gig in Freemont, one of those legendary places that were even duller than Lawndale. Jane was the auxiliary transportation supervisor – she was going to do the driving after they got drunk – and Jake Morgendorffer was coming along for market research (i.e. see which songs pissed off the more conservative locals and brand Spiral's next album around them). Daria's mother would also be away, heading out of state to meet with their health insurance company and give them a bollocking over their moral objection to paying insurance money.

That'd leave Daria, Quinn, and cousin Erin alone for the weekend, and Daria had bribed Erin to be out of the house for most of it ("I will hide the Fear CDs for a whole week") and bribed Quinn's friend Spike to hold a weekend-long party for the gang ("I will lend you these Fear CDs for the week").

The whole house to herself, for the whole weekend. A fact Tom knew about, but _his _parents didn't. Hours and hours for them to try some things out in total privacy.

It was going to be the best weekend since that time there'd been a blizzard and she'd been trapped in Highland Library overnight.

* * *

The house was finally free. Doors were locked, curtains were drawn, alcohol was out in case Daria needed some artificial courage. There'd been some brief embarrassment and coordination issues, but it was over.

Tom stood before her, dressed in her clothes; the T-shirt hung slightly looser on him but that was all, everything else fitting him snugly. A pair of prop glasses completed the look. He looked embarrassed and that made him look more vulnerable and more… more… Daria's vocabulary failed her at that point.

His clothes were on her, smelling of him, the scent a tight embrace. She didn't know if she looked embarrassed but she felt weak in the stomach and knees, giddy, hot.

He opened his mouth and she shook her head.

"I lead," she whispered.

And then the fucking phone fucking rang and shot the mood in the face with an anti-tank round.

Daria stormed out to the upstairs phone, grabbed it, and snarled down: "Morgendorffers, and if this isn't good I will _tell my sister you went to business school._"

"We're in jail," said Jane on the other end.

"That is good, yes. Hang on." She covered the mouthpiece and yelled: "Tom, go downstairs and pick up the phone, that way we only need the one exposition scene!"

* * *

"_Uh-uh-uh…" Max started to slow down. "G-Guys, there's a cop asking us to pull over-"_

_"Got it," said Jesse, who began hiding their weed under an old, unwashed T-shirt of Trent's (nobody would look for it there)._

_"There's a cop?" Jake leapt from his seat (the floor) to the front. "FUCK da cops, I mean police, mean ACCLERATE! We're not putting up with their cop state, I mean police state, I mean-"_

_"But we might get arrested!"_

_"Not if we go fast enough!"_

_Max considered the Tank. "OH SHIT WE'RE GOING TO GET ARRESTED!"_

_Jake tried to take control of the van, with Max resisting with all his might; it swerved sedately all over the place, rocked gently by this 20mph struggle, before Jake started to breath funny and screamed "MY HEART AGAIN OH GOD NO" and fell down, taking the wheel with him…_

_The Tank tipped over slowly and unstoppably, like a Brachiosaurus tripping on a banana skin, and crashed on its side. Everything fell to the side in a rush of objects and pain, and an antique peanut butter sandwich fell right into Jesse's mouth._

_Silence, broken only by the hiss of an engine._

_The sheriff's deputy peered from above the driver's side window. "Uhhh, I don't know if you know it but you swerved over the double line a couple of times back there."_

_Jake belched like the Last Trump. "Phew! False alarm!"_

* * *

"Yeah, Dad's been making that mistake for the last two weeks," said Daria. "The 911 switchboard know his voice by heart now."

"So now we're busted for dangerous driving," said Jane. "The sheriff's office has decided to fine us rather than put us on trial, because the only free slot is when the big game is on."

"A civilised town."

"Problem is, we need to pay-"

"And you don't have the money and need me to get it to you."

"Yeah. And listen, hurry it up. _I'm _a survivor but I dunno about the band – Jesse's looking green around the everything – and your dad…"

"If he stays in jail too long, he'll _force _them to put him on trial." Daria sighed. "I'll be right there. And make sure he doesn't use his one phone call." There was a suspicious silence. "He's used it, hasn't he."

The lounge window shattered as Quinn and Death Rowe came through it (Quinn had misplaced her keys). "YOU GET THE BOTTLES, I'LL GET THE CAR KEYS-"

Daria hung up and raised a hand for calm, a gesture she doubted would work. "_Quinn_. What, _exactly_, did Dad tell you?"

"The _Man's_ got him! Got him for a crime he did commit but is pretty wussy and he wanted us not to worry because he's going to _bust out! _So I thought I should go help him do it and Death Rowe was standing next to me at the time so-"

"If we give them money, they'll him go."

"That's just what they _want _you to think," growled Quinn. "Either get my back or outta the fucking way!"

Daria thought through her options quickly. They were: A) Stay at home and have sex, and let half her family commit grand felonies. B) Get Tom to drive her to Fremont and hope they beat Quinn there, and that Quinn wouldn't set fire to anything along the way. C) Join Quinn and hopefully take control.

Option B was doomed. She thought very strongly about a way that Option A could work out; she gave more thought to rationalising it than Hitler gave thought to rationalising that his moustache looked cool honest.

_Crap. _"Quinn, I will definitely cover the rear. TOM! ASSIST!"

From upstairs, an unseen Tom said: "Uh, maybe we should wait a few sec-"

Quinn stomped off to the garage: "Ah, I can't be assed to look for keys, let's just hotwire it-"

"_NO TIME!_" bellowed Daria, rushing up the stairs. "Get to the car asap, I'll need backup! I'm getting Mum and Dad's emergency cash!"

(Daria already knew the code for her parents' safe, having had to find bailout money before. Her mother's birthday had been a particularly bad one)

She rushed downstairs with the money and Tom, rushed outside, jumped into the already-moving car, jumped out of the car, opened the driver's seat, pulled Quinn out ("No."), jumped back in, shut the door, debated driving off without Quinn, let her in anyway, and set off.

_Okay. This will go okay. This will go okay. Why do I feel like I've forgotten someth-_

"Why are you two wearing each other's clothes?" asked Death Rowe.

Daria fought the urge to groan.

* * *

Helen had been driving for hours without sleep or rest or going potty, through interstates filled with lorries that took up as much lane as humanly possible and city roads paved with school-run traffic. She hadn't had a beer in her long time and her liver was screaming its triumph. She'd taken one of Erin's CDs by mistake and listened to part of a song by Avril Lavigne.

She was not a happy bunny.

And that mean _everything_ was going to plan – except the Avril bit, natch – when it came to visiting the health insurance company White Cross. (Which had nothing to do with the hardcore band, much to Jake and Helen's disappointment when they'd signed up) She was going to go into the important meeting in an absolutely foul mood, full of rage and spittle and not beer, and if she'd learnt anything about legal tactics it was _be aggressive_.

First up:

"Excuse me, miss," she said to the secretary, "but is my US-A-crossed-out-KKK fully legible with this jacket on?"

The secretary looked. "Er, sure."

"Brutal! Helen Morgendorffer, I've got the one o'clock?"

She was not called for her appointment for half an hour later than she should have been, stuck in a waiting room with vapid muzak and no magazine to read that wasn't published before VE Day. As always, the Man played right into her hands.

Once called up, she smashed (not literally) into the senior manager's office, greeting him and the in-house lawyer with: "RIGHT THEN, you tosspot, there's only _one thing_ I want to know from _you-_"

* * *

"…why's he wearing your clothes?" demanded Quinn.

"He wants to express his Scottish heritage and couldn't find a kilt," said Daria through gritted teeth, inching down the freeway, glaring suspiciously at every car around her in case it was a sentient, demonic life form that fed on crashes. "I'm wearing his so they don't get wrinkled."

"Oh." Quinn gave that some thought. "Wait, that's _bullshit! _He's not Scottish or he'd have a Mc in his name! What's really going on?"

"I _think_," said Stacy, after conferring with Stacy, Stacy, Stacy, and Stacy, "that they were having sex like that."

"_EEEWWWWW!_"

"Tell us again how you fight society's norms again," said Tom – well, muttered, his voice submerged in shame and embarrassment and skirts.

"_Daria!_ Every time you sit down in that skirt, you'll be getting _posh germs_ all over the house! That's _disgusting!_"

"I'm trying to concentrate here, Quinn. A freeway is more complicated than I'm used to. I need to… I need…" A car behind her chose that moment to sound its horn in protest at her slow ass. "I need to try that music trick again."

On went the music.

_"I'm abaaaaht to have a nervous breakdown!"_

Daria immediately sped up, driving at a normal human pace, confident and relaxed and "GAH A GIANT TRUCK!"

She slammed the brakes down for an emergency stop. A chain reaction sped down the lane, causing five rear-endings – including to her (parent's) own car, which triggered the alarm, which startled a driver in the nearby lane to do an emergency stop, causing its own chain reaction which spread past a crucial turning, which caused a chain reaction of stops and rear-ends down _that_ road, and would eventually encompass five thousand _extremely pissed off _motorists.

Daria sat in shame.

_"Nervous breakdown!"_

"I'll drive," said Death Rowe.

* * *

The senior manager had run out crying after one minute of the barrage, and another one had to be prodded into taking his place. When he entered the office, Helen was _still_ranting at the lawyer.

"…gah-damned maggoty Fascist PUKE CHUNK! Oh, and I lied, as well as knowing why you're a twat, I want a second question too, which is where's our fucking money that we fucking paid you?"

"This woman alleges we've wrongly cancelled a policy on her family after the husband got sick, Mr Glass," said the lawyer. "That's the Morgendorffer case."

"Oh _that _one. Your coverage didn't cover-"

Helen flipped out a copy of the original contract: "_Bullshat_it didn't! Date, signatures, in-writing!"

"-_with_ conditions." Mr Glass, almost imperceptibly, gave the lawyer a quick glance; the lawyer scratched his nose, the sign for 'yes it did'. _Phew!_ "We reserve the right to cancel over dangerous and destructive lifestyle activities, as we have to for the sake of our shareholders. Drug abuse, self harm, looking Mexican in Arizona – all reasonable grounds for dismissal. And being a punk _at age 47_…"

"Point to me where in the contract it mentions punks. You can't. _Nerrrr._"

"A child of five could argue in court that being an aging punk would count. _It's being a punk. _And you can never prove that our company expected you to remain punks for this long."

Helen narrowed her eyes. "You're right, of course. I wouldn't have a leg to stand on. For that sort of proof, I'd need, oh, to know a really obsessive bitch with a camera fetish…"

_I don't like where this is going, _thought Glass.

Helen had her phone out in a flash. "Amy? _Bring it the White Cross tape._" Pause. "No, not the mixtape of- wait, _yes_, bring the mixtape."

* * *

"It's possible that I miscalculated," said Daria, pressed back into her seat as the car bombed down the roads faster than any car should legally go.

Every few seconds, Death Rowe span the wheel and thrust the car into a newly opened gap in traffic, or between lanes, or once onto _sand_ before getting back on the road. She'd started off driving semi-normally (for a punk) but a minute in and she'd got this _look _of sheer concentration and the speedometer had gone up and up.

"I really hope Elsie doesn't have to identify my corpse," said Tom. "Not in a skirt. She'd finally _win._"

"Shut it you pussies, this drive is awesome!" yelled Quinn. "Faster, Dee Arr! _Faster_!"

Against all laws of physics and common sense, the car did so.

And then Stacy turned out the radio to country music and began to bob her head to it, and Quinn started to scream in terror and beg to be let out.

"So which way is it now to Fremont?" asked Stacy, her voice now sporting a southern twang.

"GPS," muttered Daria, eyeing an upcoming petrol tanker with grim resignation. "Technology thinks so we don't have to."

Stacy glanced at the GPS. "This here says we're driving in a river."

"See? It can even be stupid on our behalf. We may need to ask someone for directions-"

The world spun like they were caught in a ballet-dancing hurricane, and when Daria felt everything jerk to a stop she saw the car was now: a) Stopped b) Off the road c) At 90 degrees d) Next to a hitchhiker that Stacy must've seen _in a split second_.

"Huh."

"I'm going to be sick," muttered Quinn, leaning forward to vomit on Tom – then realised Tom was wearing Daria's clothes so that'd be like vomiting on family, so she thrust her head forwarded and vomited on Daria's legs.

"I'm not vomiting on you, I'm vomiting on his stuff bleeeeeurrrr".

The hitchhiker seemed to be having second thoughts but Stacy had gone back to one-of-her-normals and bundled him into the car before he could flee.

* * *

Jake ran to the cell bars as the deputy came: "HA! You call _this_ a jail cell? I've been banged up by _experts!_ I lived in TEXAS, bitch! _Go home, sucker!_"

To Jake's disappointment, the deputy just put a fat guy into the cell and left. _Not even rattling the bars with the truncheon? This_ is _a dull town._

The fat guy, who would later claim to be called Stan, peered at his new cellmates. "You guys a band?"

"Yeah," said Max.

"I used to know a few musicians in my time," said Stan, giving off an aura of pure smug, "back when they did it for the love, _not_ the money. Perhaps you fellows have heard of _Hendrix?_"

Trent and Jake flashed each other the looks of men who've just passed a cow farm after the herd's been at the vindaloo.

"_You _knew Hendrix?" cried Nick, lacking that metaphorical sense of smell.

"You know how he played solos with his teeth?" Stan looked around. "One time when his string broke, _I_drove him to the dentist."

_DAMN IT! Why can't the pigs just rattle the bars and beat us up like normal? _thought a morose Jake.

In the other cell, Jane was making friends and influencing people:

"Now if we're going to put The Scream _here_," she said, doing the finishing touches of the pseudo-tattoo on the woman's left arm, "I'd recommend doing the Bosch replica on your butt. It'll be thematic."

"I just wanted the one of the flag-"

"Yeah but I got bored."

* * *

Travis the hitchhiker looked at the beskirted Tom. Tom looked back.

"I'm not that sort of cowboy," said Travis.

"Look," said Tom, "you don't like us and we don't like you-"

"I like him!" said Death Rowe in a very Stacy Rowe voice, earning her a confused look from Quinn.

"-but the sooner you can direct us to Fremont, the sooner we can go back to forgetting each other exists."

"I… I can get y'all as far as Happy Dawg's, you can find your way from there…" Travis turned away from Tom, realised he'd have to look at Killer Quinn, turned back to Tom. "What y'all doing in Fremont anyway?"

"Busting people outta prison," said Quinn.

"That's nice," said Travis in a very strangled, please-don't-kill-me voice. "I'm a singer."

"I wonder what type of music you play," monotoned Daria.

"That's a good question," dumbed Quinn.

Travis looked around the car again and thought very carefully about his answer. "…punk music?"

Daria turned round to look at him, giving the most dead-eyed stare she could do. "Oh. Okay. Play us something."

Travis gave back a I-am-going-to-die eyed stare.

"Fuck yeah, awesome!" cheered Killer Quinn. "Oooh, oooh, can it be-"

"No, let's let him decide," said Daria (because you had to get your fun where you could). "It'll be a surprise."

Travis, desperate beyond measure, looked to Tom for help. Tom also wanted to get his fun where he could, and mouthed 'Avril Lavigne'.

* * *

Amy Barksdale entered the White Cross building covered in filth and stinking so bad it counted as an anti-aircraft defence.

"You didn't hear it from me, but Sick, Sad World next expose is on sewer yacht racing," she announced. "We're thinking: 'it's a sport for the filthy, stinking rich… and the plain filthy stinking!' Poor Pathetic Planet's got nothin' on us…" She tossed a VHS tape onto the table. "Brought the tape."

There was a brief delay while someone tried to find a VHS to play it _with _(one was found alone, unmourned, and unloved in a forgotten cupboard).

The tape showed an office with the cutting-edge fashions of the late 1980s, down to a man with a ponytail (everyone sniggered as one). A younger Helen Morgendorffer and her husband were sitting down, turned to the camera.

_"You have the blood and urine samples and they show, to your satisfaction, that we are entirely free from chemical influence at this moment in time?" _asked the younger Helen.

_"My arm is all owie," _whimpered Jake the Snake, scourge of The Man.

_"Yes," _said the lawyer.

_"And you'll confirm that you, Logan Abercrombie of White Cross Medical Insurance, have been informed that we are hardcore punks and intend to remain so even unto old age?"_

_"In your FACE, social expectations!" _bellowed Jake.

_"Yes, you've informed me this."_

Modern-day Helen turned from the TV to Glass, grinning. "I did this for _all _our insurance purchases."

"And I made copies," said Amy, "and also made a compilation set to the Sex Pistols 'I Fought The Law' for Helen's thirty-fifth birthday."

"I see," said Glass. "Alright, we'll have another look at your agreement."

"Mmmm. Money in five working days or we come back."

The sisters walked out, and Glass turned to the lawyer. "Thoughts?"

"She's right. Poor Pathetic Planet is rubbish."

* * *

It'd been a whale of a time trying to stop Quinn from feeding Travis his own guitar, but the rest of the two-hour drive had been far less eventful. The game of I Spy had lasted all of five seconds – "it's sand, isn't it" – and the 'I'm going to the picnic and bringing…' game had to be stopped when Stacy gave six different items for the letter C and didn't realise she'd done so. The radio had both kinds of music, country _and _western, and with a straight choice of that and two hours of punk CDs, Daria had called seniority and hooked up her iPod for alternate rock. She stopped when Quinn and Death Rowe complained it was emo.

"Emo _means _something, you can't call everything emo-"

"That's _Weezer _playing," said Quinn smugly.

"Crap. But my wider point still stands. You think Elvis is emo."

"He keeps bitching about heartbreaker's and some baby being gone, he's totally emo!"

"No one will win this argument but the desert vultures," said Tom.

The most eventful thing that happened was when they had to make a toilet stop. Using the public toilets at a roadside bar for truck drivers had been quite eventful, and Tom had needed Quinn to bodyguard him when he went to pee.

They eventually got Travis to Happy Dawg's, and he _fled _in a hurry. But he'd served his purpose so everyone could safely forget he ever existed. They knew the way to Fremont and nothing could go wrong.

_NOTHING COULD GO WRONG DAMN IT._

* * *

"Then Sid put his hand on my shoulder and said: 'Stan, you taught me how to play, you taught me how to look, you taught me attitude. You know what you did? You _invented punk_-"

The Snake crashed into him in a blur of fury and spittle, screaming "YOU LYING BASTARD YOU CROSSED THE FUCKING RUBIX CUBE!", and the charge was so strong the cell door burst open when Stan crashed into it. (The deputy had forgotten to lock it again)

"TAKE THAT AND THAT AND **OH GOD MY HEART**aaaakkkk-"

The deputy looked round, saw this, and screamed down his radio that a mass jailbreak was in progress. On the floor, Jake clutched his chest in pain and then belched like Krakatau.

"False alarm!"

* * *

The car pulled up to the sheriff's office, and Daria realised that either a crossdresser or a hardcore punk was going to have to enter there and talk to an officer.

"Alright. Which one of us is the _least _likely to be shot on sight?"

"Oh don't be concerned about that, it'll be fine," said Stacy, slipping on a pair of glasses. "I'll handle this situation, be right back."

She got out, opened the car's boot, quickly changed into demure nerdy clothes ("Wait, did she _pack _those?" fourth-walled Tom), and went into the sheriff's office. After a few minutes, she came back.

"We have an extremely grave situation, Daria – we can have Jane and the band released, but your father has assaulted another inmate and has new charges against him! You can only bail him out and the charges would remain!" She turned to Quinn and changed her voice: "It's fucking weak! We can get the others out but Snake had to teach some cunt a lesson, and the Man's got all pissy about it!"

"Of course"/"SHIT!" said Daria/Quinn.

"Ask whoever's in charge if our good friend Benjamin Franklin could help Dad out early," said Daria.

Stacy left, came back: "The Deputy said he was disgusted we'd even _think _he could bribed. Then he gave me this piece of paper with '$400' written on it."

"Alright. We'll think about this. First, let's get the band to wherever their gig was before they forget why they're here."

* * *

Jane and the Spiral came out, blinking at this strange thing called the sun, and staggering to the impounded Tank. Trent slouched over to the Morgendorffer car to thank Daria, and then saw her and Tom in the wrong clothes.

"Hmmm. Yeah, I tried sorting the laundry when stoned too."

"Dear, you remember how I told you nothing would go wrong when we experimented?" said Tom. "I take it all back. You were right all along. Except about your teachers finding out."

"It's not dark yet."

"I was thinking that too, yes."

* * *

The convoy of two mooched along the desert to Happy Dawg's, which confused Daria. That didn't seem like the usual place for Mystic Spiral. On the other hand, it _did _have drunk people and would pay, so…

"Why _Happy _Dawg's?" asked Jane. "That's not a very western name, is it? And what's it happy about? Did it just break into the dinosaur exhibit at a museum?"

"It's happy because it owns a bar," said Tom. "That's one clever dog."

The group walked into the bar and a thousand (okay, fifty nine) eyes stared back at them. Old eyes. Bitter eyes.

Hippie eyes. And hippie hair. And hippie wrinkles (it had been a while since the 60s). And if the beer could be hippie beer, it would be.

"We won't have to do that Cher song, will we?" asked Max in fear.

The band continued in. Daria's group stayed where they were, for the eyes were remaining on them – or, more specifically, Quinn and Stacy (who had frozen). Hippies, to Daria's way of thinking, should not be scary, because they _were hippies_. Peace, love, and having lots of sex and pretending this was revolutionary were not great threats, unless you were a VD clinic.

Of course, alongside the peace symbols painted on the walls was a fuck-off great North Vietnamese flag, the Weather Underground logo, and "AYERS IS A TRAITOR" scrawled in angry red. That was a bit worrying. The hippies were all ancient, hard-looking, mean-looking bastards, like old oak gone hard but with hammer-and-sickle and burning flag tattoos. Four of them were chewing menacingly.

"All they may need is love but I'd like a stab vest," muttered Tom.

One man stood up from the table, and for a brief minute Daria thought he had ESP and had _heard_her internal sarcasm about the failed Summer of Love.

"We don't want any _commercialised Fascists _here," he growled.

"Yeah, fuck off Tom," said Quinn before she realised he was looking at her. "Wait, WHAT?"

"Real rebellious, _buying expensive shit_ like you've been _told_." He spat like he'd eaten something rotten.

"Oh yeah? Wanna start something? You're wearing one of those stupid iron Che T-shirts-"

"Irony, Quinn," said Daria, "and I don't think he's wearing it to be ironic."

Stacy was starting to hyperventilate. "Oh god, it's one of these dreams again! _Huhhhhh heeee_-"

"I've got a great idea," said Tom, "we'll leave and let the band do their thing."

The four rushed out, the last thing they heard being a scared Max going "s-s-sure, we LOVE I Got You Babe!". Stacy immediately reverted to Death Rowe, scratching her head and saying "weren't we in the bar before?".

"Start the damn engines, the band has no idea how to play that song and will start on Nirvana on instinct," said Jane. "We'll need to escape _fast_."

"I thought hippies were, like, pussies and dead and stuff!" said Quinn. "Those guys weren't dead! They were the other thing!"

"They look like they've been bitter since _before _the Summer of Love, never mind when it failed," said Tom.

"Are hippies even _allowed_to be violent? Doesn't that break the rules or something?"

"Quinn, have you ever heard of the Weather Underground?" asked Daria.

"Fuck off, you don't get weather _underground_, there's no clouds down there."

And then, as she tried to think of an appropriately rude comment to make to her sister, it hit Daria. She knew how to sort everything out.

With a deep breath, she pushed her way through the door and yelled _"LONDON CALLING TO THE UNDERWORLD!"_

The hippies whipped their heads round, teeth bared.

"Now that I've got your attention…" Daria walked on to the bar, ignoring the rising anger. "Okay, punks hate hippies and you hate… well, everyone by the look of things, and I truly admire that. _But _sometimes, for the greater good, both factions will need to work together. We need to raise money to get our father out of jail-"

"Bullshit!" The spit-happy hippie spat. "All punk is, is commercialised neo-Fascism! Your sister looks one day away from joining the SS! Why should _we_care what happens to some pseudo-rebel bully boy?"

"Because," said Daria, looking him dead in the eye, "he's in trouble with the law. And if there's one thing I know, is that whatever divisions exist between hippies and punks, they – and the rockers, the gangsta rappers, the mods, the metalheads, the alternate crowd, even the _glam rock_, all of them, all of _us_– we have one thing in common, one thing uniting us all:

"_Hatred of The Man._"

The hippies looked at each other.

"Look deep down into your hearts. Could you let someone remain in the hands of The Man, when you can deliver them and _stick it _to him?" Time for the clincher: "What would the Chicago Seven have done?"

_"FUCK YEAH!" _bellowed a random hippie, rising up with his wallet opened. "Screw the pigs, man!"

Roars of approval came from all over the bar, as did money. Soon, Daria had all she needed, plus some extras; she gave the Black Power fist-pump to roars of greater approval and walked out the bar, passing the Spiral on the way as they tried to look up sheet music on their phones.

"How did you do that?" asked Jane as Daria emerged. "That involved _speaking _to people."

"Seventeen years in my family, you get good at manipulating self-styled rebels."

* * *

When the deputy came to let Jake out, he was telling Stan "And _that_ is the origin of the original punk bands. Now the _second wave_of punk-"

"I'll never pretend I was in a band ever again, I SWEAR PLEASE-"

"_The second wave of punk-_"

The deputy had to _force _Jake to leave the cell.

* * *

"So despite impossible odds," said Tom, "you've got everything working out fine. Well, almost everything but-"

"I worked out I had enough left over to book us a motel room for three hours," said Daria. "You can guess where this is heading."

"Oh. Cool. But, uh, won't we need an excuse to not drive off-"

"It's funny, but _somehow _all the tyres on the car have become flat. I imagine it will take everyone an hour or three to reinflate them."

"Oh. I guess that's everything-"

"Not quite." Daria turned off her mobile so no one, _no one_, could call on her for aid. "_Now _it's everything."

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Daria and Tom's clothing issue was inspired by breitasparrow's Daria crossdressing fanarts, Scent Of A Man and Scent Of Humiliation. Happy Dawg's and Daria's rallying cry was the suggestion of Roentgen.

My girlfriend later pointed out to me that Sloane is a Scottish name after all…

"Ayers" is Bill Ayers, co-founder of the Weather Underground and who eventually stopped being a fugitive radical and became a lecturer instead.

Poor Pathetic Planet is taken from The Daria Database book.

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME...**

"I-I-I _failed!_" screamed Heather, pointing an accusing finger at Dire Daria. "You said you can fix the essay and I paid you cash and _your essay failed me!_"

"Yes, it did," said Daria.

"You... you deliberately-"

"You've learnt a valuable lesson about the value of hard work and not trusting the promises of suspicious-looking strangers. Now if you'll excuse me, Jane and I need to finish eating pizza on your dime." She raised up a middle finger in conjunction with an ever louder "pbbb_bbbbTTTTT!_", adding "Jog on."

"So _that's_ why they say 'you've been punked'," remarked Jane.


	34. Tom's Addition

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Episode 34: Tom's Addition**

"And that brings us to your Language Arts assignment." Roy the security guard held up the inside of _Women Leaning On Cars_magazine. "You see what the inside of this magazine looks like? Go make your own version on computers using photos and words and stuff."

Jane raised a hand. "Are we meant to use photos of _ourselves _in our underwear or steal it from porn?"

Roy considered this. "Porn. The other thing's illegal, I think. Any other questions? No? Okay, class dismissed."

"Cool!" said Kevin. "Wait, doesn't that bell have to ring first?"

"No," lied Roy, who had poker to get back to.

The class shrugged and left. Daria turned to Jane: "Do you want to collaborate on this? I don't think I can dumb myself down enough for the project, I'll need help."

"No problem. I've already got an idea: Trent and the band shirtless, draped over the Tank. We'll say it's a Not What To Drive feature."

"Won't they catch something if they lean on the Tank with bare skin?"

"I'm more worried the Tank will catch something."

* * *

"And that's why, and I'm not trying to disparage the great work Steve and the other guards have been doing, I think we really should think about finding the funds to hire a _professional _teacher."

Superintendent Pascal was only over the phone, because Principal O'Neill wanted to see if he could stand up for himself if his boss wasn't in the same room; but he could still _see_, in his mind's eye, the scowl. Like a Doberman being irritated by a very chewable kitten.

"What is it with you principals and funds? That's all I hear, funds, funds, funds! If you were doing a proper job, you wouldn't need more money!"

"We're in serious danger of the senior class graduating with, erm, how shall I put this, _specialised _knowledge of English literature and analysis. Especially focused on monthly periodicals situated on top shelves."

"What? We can't afford _another _scandal at your school! Why haven't you sorted this? Why didn't you contact me before?"

"Um, sir, this is our fifth-"

"No it isn't," Pascal lied, and in the face of a lie that big O'Neill just gave up. "Can you redistribute some of the catering budget?"

"_Possibly_," said O'Neill, "but we may be a teensy bit too close to malnutrition-"

"Nonsense, kids today are too fat as it isn't. Cut away, O'Neill! But first state for this tape that you weren't told to by me."

* * *

They called themselves the Shadow School Board. They were a secret society at Lawndale High, devoted to trying to keep _some _semblance of order and control at the school. They comprised of only the best of the best of the teachers.

There were three of them and every second meeting saw them get drunk these days.

"ALRIght, this MEETING begins nOW," growled DeMartino (as it was his kitchen they were using). "First and ONLY item, O'Neill wants to HIRE a new LANguage ARTS teacher-"

"I think we can safely say _no_ competent teacher will be joining Lawndale High, not after the last two years," said Ms Defoe. "The last teacher for that subject was Ken Edwards of all people, so we're looking at someone who would be _worse _than him."

"I have a list of some of the potential teachers," bored Mr Ewing, the Maths teacher and a man so dull & forgettable people had asked "who are you?" when he entered the staff room.

"Sorry, Jasper, whatever that was about can we come back to it later? I believe you have a list of some potential teachers."

DeMartino looked down the list like he'd rather throw up. "How in- HIM? DOM IDLE? Last school HE was at, the FOOTBALL players did SELF-STUDY rather than RELY on him! _FOOTBALL PLAYERS! _And HE'S the most LIKELY option?"

"I'm afraid this list is full of freaks, incompetents, perverts, or combinations of all three. If we get another teacher like that at Lawndale…"

"They'll close us-" attempted Ewing.

"They'll CLOSE US DOWN!" DeMartino smiled happily for a second, then stopped. "There's only ONE thing for it, for the GOOD of the SCHOOL…"

"We have to stop O'Neill hiring someone to teach the kids literary skills _oh god _these past two years…"

* * *

The Zon was hosting a night of philosophical music:

_"Who shot the hippies? Who locked them in a zoo? Who gagged the beatniks? Who filled their mouths with glue? Who crushed the bohos? Who turned their work to poo? Hey, Mr. Normal, IT WAS __**YOU!**__"_

"I can understand what this song is about, is this a Spiral B-side?" Daria asked Jane.

"He spent _hours _working out every possibly rhyme with 'you', y'know."

As the music vomited on, Tom made a surprise appearance, waving at the girls. Following him was a blond girl with piercing ice-coloured eyes and the clothes of a rich person who's trying to look not-rich but has only seen such people in books.

"Hey! Astrid, this is my girlfriend Daria and my friend Jane; Daria, this is the Honourable Astrid Magnus, from Fielding. I don't have to say 'Honourable' each time I introduce her but it makes me feel all important and connected."

"This will sound sickeningly aristocratic," said Astrid in a Nordic accent, "but when was the last time this establishment was cleaned?"

"It wasn't," said Daria.

"I expected as much."

The song mercifully finished, and Trent announced they'd be back for the second set. ("This was the first set!" unnecessarilied Jesse)

"Jane's brother is the lead singer," said Tom.

"You feel sorry for me, don't you?" asked Jane.

"Yes," said Astrid.

"Good answer."

"I'm confused," said Daria. "You have a friend from Fielding who's a girl. I thought Fielding deliberately segregated you all so this would never happen and boys would be free from the dreaded cooties."

"Thomas has a particular reputation at Fielding for being involved in depraved, lower-class establishments and people," said Astrid. "As a wealthy student with familial connections to a European monarchy, I am someone people seek out to know at Fielding – the social strata is open to me to do what I want. So after a few months of that, I asked Thomas where I can go where _none _of those irritating horse-fornicators could find me."

"Unfortunately, a whole new breed of irritating fornicators can find you." As if to punctuate Daria's words, a punk wandered past and vomited on the floor. "Hey Spike."

"Mmblblblblb_bleeeeeeurg_."

"That's the nearest it gets to being washed," Jane told Astrid. "If you'll excuse us, we've got to get my brother and his friends to sell their bodies for us."

"Good luck finding a buyer," said Tom. "We need to find Pat Seven, he's here _somewhere _and we need to stop him trying to hit on the goths again…"

The group separated. On the way, Jane asked Daria: "Do you think there are people with the title Dishonourable?"

* * *

"Ah, I wanted a proper Spiral song," groused Kristen the goth, picking at the remaining ice from her drink of ice with Coke. "I could understand the lyrics and shit."

"It's Spiral, _all_ their songs rock!" squeed Cindy, who had a bad case of the fangirls. "Ah, it's good to see that even with success, they remember their roots- Huh." She squinted her eyes at the sight of Tom Sloane and… and who was that? "Wait, is that… Oh _no! _That Daria girl's boyfriend is with another girl! Kristen, you don't think—Kristen?"

Behind her, Kristen had her hips cocked and was asking a preppy blonde guy "is that 'Seven' a reference to something…?"

* * *

Over the weekend, Daria and Jane discovered a significant block to their 'topless pictures' plan: Quinn had found out.

"Quinn, I will speak slowly and loudly: Trent will not take his top off while you're here. You scare him. It doesn't matter how long you stay here, _you cannot see him topless._"

"What if I pretend to leave but look through a keyhole or something?"

"That would be a sensible plan if you hadn't just said it in front of Trent."

"I'll say I won't and then do it anyway!" Quinn said with great cunning.

The conversation went on like this for a while.

* * *

It was blackest night, with dramatically convenient rain and thunder. DeMartino's car prowled through the Baltimore gloom like a particularly decrepit wolf, leaving no trace but the drip of brake fluid. Within far too long a time, he had located the house and car of one of the teachers shortlisted for interviews with O'Neill on Sunday.

He crept out, sugar in hand, ready to spike the gas tank of the enemy car.

He looked at the car. The still-slightly-shiny, 2004-model, tyres-still-intact car.

When a passing rap-thundering car of gangstas passed by, DeMartino flagged them down: "TEN bucks if you HELP me steal THIS car and BURN my own!"

The lead gangsta looked at DeMartino's piece-o-crap and gently told him they'd do it for free this time.

* * *

Jasper Ewing walked through the Boston bar, ignored by everyone, and reached the target teacher and slapped a "more like Red SUCKS" sticker on the guy's back. The beatdown was already happening by the time he left.

* * *

Claire Defoe phoned up her target and said: "Hi, I'm from Lawndale High. Sorry, we don't need an interview after all."

"Oh, okay, bye."

_Why make things too complicated? _she thought.

* * *

First period on Monday was Language Arts, and the assignments for Roy were due in. Or would be if Steve hadn't taken the class.

"Roy's busy being sick after losing at shots," Steve announced. "And I didn't know I was teaching today, so… I dunno. Who wants to watch the Pigskin Channel and claim they're researching something?"

Half the class cheered.

"Do we hand our assignments in to you?" asked Mack.

"Assignments?" Steve went for his mobile phone and spent a few minutes in serious conversation ("ahaha you wuss!"), and then hang up. "Roy'd forgotten about them and said he didn't care anyway, so… you all get B's."

"_Alriiiiight! _Highest score yet!" crowed Kevin. "Check me out, babe, I'm smart!"

"What do we do with all these topless pictures then?" asked someone, before Upchuck yelled out "_I'll _take care of them!"

Daria and Jane looked at each other, nodded, and handed Upchuck theirs. At the sight of male abs, his leer turned upside down and he recoiled like Dracula from a gospel-rock album. Brittany saw it too and, checking Kevin didn't see, quickly pilfered it for herself. (Upchuck noticed that and started to think…)

"Fifty minutes of mandatory football," muttered Daria as the telly went on. "I wonder if it'll bear any resemblance to something entertaining?"

_"Coming up next, Do They Rule Or Do They Suck – the fan-moderated discussion panel where people like YOU can discuss the worth of players!"_

"Huh. It's almost like civilisation."

* * *

Between lessons, Daria found herself cornered by Cindy – and that confused Daria, because she was pretty sure they'd never talked and didn't realise Cindy knew her name. Also because Cindy looked sympathetic for no conceivable reason, unless…

"It's alright Cindy, I'm used to Quinn by now."

"Daria, I don't want to be the first to tell you this and I'm so, so sorry, but… but…" She looked around and whispered sharply: "Your boyfriend was out on Friday _with another girl!_"

"I know, I was with Jane at the time."

"No, no! This blonde girl, menacing eyes, dressed like-"

"Oh _that_. Yes, it's surprising to know, but sometimes boys talk to girls and hang around them socially. I have little first-hand experience of 'socially', but I am led to believe this by television and books."

Cindy looked at her with a blank smile.

"They're just friends."

"Ohhhh." Cindy looked worried. "If you're sure, they did look rather, ah, chummy-"

"As friends are."

"You stink, motherfucker," said Jane cheerily (who'd be eavesdropping on the conversation).

"Most of the time. Does that clarify things?"

"Well, if you say so. Um, one other thing…" Cindy checked for more eavesdroppers. "Does Tom have a friend called Pat? Should I know anything about him, because I saw him briefly with Kristen and then I didn't see her all _weekend_-"

"_Hello!_" said Upchuck, causing Cindy to quickly leave ("ewww"). "Oh, Mistress Morgendorffer, I need to ask you something, a rather _lucrative _something – this report of yours, these young men in the photo, would they be-"

"No."

"They don't know what they're missing, Ultrasuave Inc just found itself a whole _new_market to sell illicit material to!" Upchuck stalked off, wondering aloud: "Tans and Vans… no, not clear enough… Chicks wi- oh, aha, force of habit…"

Daria was pretty sure she'd sorted the situation out.

Unfortunately, Ruby Montag had walked past the conversation and only heard part of it, and rather than fact-check her brain told her she needed to go to Sandi _right away_ and go: "OH MY GOD! Dyke Morgaydorrfer just admitted she knows her boyfriend's cheating on her with someone! _And _she's having threesomes with him and whatserface, that girl with black hair-"

Sandi would have done a spit-take if she'd been drinking, so instead she just spat. "Oh my _gawd! _Black hair, black hair…" Sandi racked her brains for names. "Aleesha?"

"Sure, why not?"

* * *

By the end of second period, half the school was aware of Daria's alleged love-life thanks to a combination of gossip, text messages, and the invaluable _Lawndale Hot/Not?_Twitter feed run by Tori Jericho to inform people of immediate social situations. The entry on Daria now had thirty-five comments and counting.

Word reached the cheerleaders, and the cool guys, and the freshmen, and yea, even unto the stoners (Burnout and Shaggy had been in earshot). Obviously, nobody bothered to reach the ears of Daria and check any of this because that would spoil the fun.

Then it reached the ears of Quinn.

"I _knew _this day would come, I fucking knew it!" she mouth-frothed. "Those rich neo-fatcascists are all alike, with their money and their smugness and their… their dickness! Fucker!"

"Should we skip class to go beat him up or wait until lunch?" asked Dave.

"Lunch _is _going to be quiche," said Angel.

"No, no, we have to play it cool," said Quinn, thinking it over. "Daria's not going to believe us without _proof_. Otherwise she'll just go all meh-meh-meh-you-crippled-my-boyfriend-meh-meh-meh. Shaggy, you're sneaking into Fielding to see what's going on-" She looked again at the lanky, unshaven, obviously-poor stoner. "Fuck that plan. Er…"

"Bribe a Fielding student to do it for us?" suggested Scarlett.

"With what?" Quinn's eyes narrowed on Jackie Wentworth. "_Sorted._"

"What if they're gay?"

Quinn's eyes narrowed on Dave.

"Fuck _off._"

* * *

"And you're _sure _you haven't seen any of the potential interviewees?" asked Principal O'Neill.

"VERY sure," said DeMartino, who'd intercepted the last two and told them about Kevin until they'd left.

"Oh _dear_. This is a dilemma and no mistake!" He looked down at his desk. "I don't want to worry you, Anthony, but if we can't sort out Language Arts soon… Well, with the school's history the, ah, the _unique _path it's taken, it won't take much more for us to be closed down."

DeMartino froze. He'd be out of a job and so would his semi-friends. _He'd never have to teach again._ He'd be out of a job and so would his semi-friends. _He'd never have to teach again._ He'd be out of a job and so would his semi-friends. _He'd never have to teach again._

"Anthony?"

"I'm THINKing!"

* * *

"-but the whole _premise_ is _stupid_, John Thomas-"

"No Terry, think about it logically, Pat's _right_: he's an expert in all sorts of business fields, he's a proven whiz with finances, he's known for frugality-"

"But he was never _born here_, you idiot!"

There was a cough that _dripped_ with icy sex appeal, and the boys all looked up to see Astrid standing there in a school uniform that left a lot to the imagination and teenage boys _had an imagination_.

"I hate to impose, Thomas – that's a lie, of course – but Sue Bentley is trying to talk to me again so I've claimed I'm trying to court one of you. It was my only escape, and it haunts me."

"One of you?" quoted Tom.

"I keep my options open."

"Sadly," said Pat, "I'm taken, so is John Thomas here, and Terry is more gay than two men having sex. You're stuck with Pee-Wee."

"Hello," said Stephen Pierson-Wells hopefully.

Astrid swore in Norwegian. "Can I claim one of you is cheating with me? Please? No offence."

"No, that's fair," said Stephen.

"I think Tom's a more realistic cheat than I am-"

"You never let that card game go, do you Pat?"

"Out of interest, what were you four discussing when I arrived?" Astrid asked.

"Pat suggested that Scrooge McDuck should be the Republican's presidential candidate," said Tom.

Astrid opened her mouth to say that was silly, then began thinking about it.

* * *

"…leaving them the only nations untouched by the fallout and EMPs," said Daria. "And _that's _why Argentina and Chile tried to cause World War Three in the 70s."

"How long are you doing this for?" asked Jane.

"About two weeks, then I need you to take over the website and claim I've been assassinated. Then I've got a month in which Sick, Sad World will notice and report the conspiracy as fact, and I win the bet with Aunt Amy-"

There was a cough that _dripped _with annoyance. Daria and Jane looked up from their lunch to a tall black girl, a thick mass of wavy hair, a midriff-baring tank top, and an annoyed expression.

"_Why _are there rumours going around about us?" asked the stranger.

"Who are you?" asked Daria.

"We've been in the same Art and Gym classes since last year, Dee."

Silence.

Sigh. "Aleesha Nibblett."

"My life is enriched by knowing that. What rumours?"

Aleesha told her. Then she repeated it because Daria had asked.

"This makes no sense-"

"Yeah, why wasn't I invited to these threesomes?" asked Jane.

"Besides that. Only one thing for it: we need to distract the rumour mill with something worse."

"Good for you," said Aleesha. "In the meantime, you're a bitch but you _are _physically my type, so if you want to dump the guy for cheating on you then we can do something for one night."

"He's _not_ cheating-"

"Don't get her mad, that's a good offer," pointed out Jane.

* * *

The Shadow School Board had an emergency meeting in the staff toilets.

"I flipped a COIN and decided we HAVE to enSURE there's a new teacher – or we're OUT on our EARS! There HAS to be ONE who wouldn't be TOO bad…"

"There's one left-" began Ewing.

"There's only one left on the list," interrupted Defoe, glancing nervously at DeMartino, "but you're not going to like it."

"NO! **NO!**Not…" He shut his eyes and thought money money money to himself. "All RIGHT. Do IT. But DISCREETLY, no one must LEARN that we've been INVOLVED in-"

One of the staff toilets flushed. As the three teachers froze in silent horror, Tommy Sherman emerged.

"Tommy Sherman don't care what you've been talking about," he informed them. "Can't say 'don't give two shits' though, eh? Get it? Get-"

"_YES_."

* * *

"-and it's just so _horrible_ when he cheats, I know _just_ how you feel!" Brittany squeaked at Daria. "What you should do is cheat _back! _And if you cheated first, this means you were just being, um, pre-empted!"

"Thanks, Brittany. If I was being cheated on, I would certainly want to be reminded of it over and over."

"Don't mention it."

A number of other students had comments like that during Science class – and more had comments like "HA HA" – but the class finally ended.

And then on her way out, Ms Barch stopped her and growled: "Men are _pigs_, sister. If you want to teach him a lesson, I can be your alibi-"

"He's. Not. Cheating."

Barch looked at her sadly. "Oh, Daria. The patriarchal culture got to you already."

* * *

"I hate to tell you this, Tom," said Terry, who totally didn't, "but you shouldn't have agreed to being Astrid's cheat-buddy."

"I didn't. We said Pat was."

"Well, I guess you really _do_ look more like a cheater than him, because rumours have started to leak out - and you _were _seen together in a secluded part of the library-"

"I haven't been there all day."

"Well she was there with _someone _who was male."

"I'm going home now."

* * *

By the end of school, the Maleficent Eleven regrouped in the car park.

"What've you got to report?" growled Quinn.

"That dude was the worst lay _ever_," said Jackie. "But apart from that, he told me that he heard Tom Sloane is definitely cheating on Daria with Astrid Magnus-"

"Whoa, she's not related to Ultra Magnus is she?" asked an impressed Shane.

"-and that he was advocating a Republican presidency."

"_That's fucking IT!_ The smoking bum or whatever it's called!" Quinn slammed a fist into the palm of her hand. "We tell Daria and we show Tom not to cheat on a Morgendorffer! Maybe not in that order! I'm going _Class of 1984 _on his ass!"

The gang cheered.

"And apparently he's not even called Tom! His name's John! Dude just lies _all the way down._"

* * *

When Daria got home, her parents were setting up the outside grill. Ever since her father had had a heart attack, he'd been on a diet that restricted red meat to once a week – and that once had come again.

"And it's not just any beef!" crowed Helen. "I've got Texan _and_ Argentine and I'm going to _stick them together!_"

"YES!" roared Jake. "Hear _that_, heart? You can't stop me living my life! You _lose_, heart! YOU! LOSE!"

"Jakey, calm down and take your pills."

"DAMN IT! The heart _wins!_"

Daria went back inside without saying a word. Her cousin Erin looked up from a copy of _Waif _and said: "Don't worry, I saw Aunt Helen bring in some vegetables."

"Oh good. Barbequed lettuce again."

"I heard Tom's cheating on you."

Daria turned to her slowly.

"I follow _Lawndale Hot/Not_. (I can't believe Adam's left Mikaela for Jenna!) Anyway, don't worry Daria, from my experience you're _lucky_ he's cheating on you because then he'll be carrying out his sickest kinks somewhere else. You're well shot of _that!_ Unless that is what you're into, in which case you should probably tell him. Unless he's cheating to get _away_ from that, in which case _you_should cheat for the good of the relationship-"

"Erin, did this conversation have a point?"

"I can't remember," said Erin.

"Once, for the record: he's not cheating on me. And I'm not cheating on him. And I'm not touching the rest of your speech in case I catch something."

"Well, if it happens, you know you can always talk to me about it."

"I'll bear that in mind," lied Daria. "Please tell me my parents haven't heard about this. Tom's coming round and _oh god where's Quinn_"

* * *

Tom had parked his car and was mooching down the sidewalk to the Morgendorffers – stopping only to note how worrying it was that he _hadn't_stopped walking when a huge burst of flame and twin cries of "FUCK YEAH" came from the house's vicinity – when a car pulled up alongside him.

"Hey," said Astrid, behind the wheel.

"What are you doing here?"

"I saw your car and I wanted to talk to you." She opened the side door. "Why don't you get in?"

Tom, shrugging, got in. "Uhhhh… You want to talk about school?"

"Nope."

"Oh. Then…what?"

"About my situation."

"I don't know what you mean."

Astrid looked down in shame and held up a map. "I can't tell where the hell I am. How do I get to the cinema here?"

"All right then." Tom leaned over towards Astrid and started to point at the roads. "Well, for a start you-"

"_FUCKING KNEW IT!_"

The car door burst open and Tom had only a split second to register Quinn's forehead descending on him at high velocity. On instinct, he _moved out of the way _and she headbutted the steering wheel.

"_DAMN IT!_" screamed Quinn, lurching back out of the car in pain.

"I liked it too," quipped Tom.

Astrid looked at him and accurately informed him "that's not funny".

* * *

Daria saw the Eleven outside as they descended on the car, sighed, went to the kitchen, took out some beer, and went outside and chucked the beer at the gang. They immediately descended on the cans, fighting among each other for possession, leaving Quinn alone and screaming, "oh fuck you guys!" in anger at their backs.

"Okay," said Daria, leaving the Ten to sort it out themselves. "Quinn. Let's talk about this like civilised people."

"But I gotta beat Tom up, damn it! And…"

"Astrid," said Astrid.

"Yeah, her! She's cheating on you, I mean he's cheating on her with you, I mean her, I mean _Daria being civilised gives me a headache!_"

"I will say this again…" Daria stopped in mid-sentence. Obviously, denials of cheating were not going to work. It was time to think like the enemy. "I am forcing Tom to see other girls at Fielding as part of a wider scheme to cause social chaos and disruption, to reveal Fielding to be an amoral, hypocritical place in the eyes of the masses. Thus destroying the Man's ability to claim his acolytes are our betters." She threw up the horns in a slow, lazy gesture. "Fight the power."

"Oh man, Daria, you totally got hardcore after you got laid!" said Quinn proudly. "But then who's cheating? Because I heard some girls talking about that in the toilets-"

"I'm cheating on Tom with…" Daria racked her brains. "Jesse Moreno."

"Oh cool. So who's that Aleesha girl then?"

"I'm cheating on Jesse with her."

"You're off the fucking chain!" Quinn raised a fist. "_Knucks!_"

"No."

Behind them, Dave rose from the beaten forms of his friends, roaring in victory as he held the beer aloft; then Helen ran out of the house and clotheslined him from behind, yelling "_BEER WAR!_".

"Can someone tell me how to get [Norwegian expletives] out of here, please?" asked Astrid.

* * *

Principal O'Neill didn't _remember _having his secretary call in Ms Onepu for an interview – or that he had a secretary – but he was glad someone had come at such short notice. He didn't think it was normal for interviews to be held at his house at night, but if she knew the address it must have been above board right?

"Yes, well, we've been having a bit of a problem finding a suitable candidate-"

"Oh, I'm fully aware, I've heard all about the problems at Lawndale High!" She wrung her hands as she spoke, her eyes wide and aghast as if she was talking about… well, about Lawndale High. "The disruption and the chaos, the poor children! I just want to help find some stability for the precious darlings, we have a duty to ensure that for them!"

"Yes, yes we do," said O'Neill, shame and defeat in his words. "And, um, well… I'm sure we can _achieve _that! Soon. Maybe."

"Oh yes, yes! Without that, we never _can_help them actualise their potential-"

Life came into O'Neill's eyes like he'd been given the full Frankenstein. "I'll be honest, Ms Onepu, there were other questions I needed to ask but you seem to have the _exact_qualities I'm looking for! Welcome aboard as our new Language Arts teacher! Bravo!"

"Oh." She looked disappointed. "I'm sorry, I've wasted your time. I'm trained as a Science-"

"_Your skills are transferable!_ They are very, very transferable!" O'Neill burst into tears before her. _"Puh-puh-pleeeeeese you don't know what it's liiiiiikke…"_

Eyes wide, she patted him on the shoulders. "There, there?"

Spying on the scene through binoculars, DeMartino sighed. The job was done. But he was pretty damn sure that working with someone as neurotic and molly-coddling as her was going to be hell.

Then again, working with every other teacher – and teaching – was hell so he wasn't going to lose anything. You had to be optimistic about these things.

* * *

The next day, Daria had a grim smirk on her face and Jane spent the whole walk to school making sure she hadn't got a "Kick Me" sign stuck to her.

"Daria, what have you done and how do I avoid it?"

"I knew the rumour about Tom and I would go around until another rumour replaced it. So I just… encouraged things a little. After I did a little digging with the help of my sister and cousin to find out where the rumour had originated from." The girls had reached the school grounds, and Daria checked her watch. "Half an hour ago, an 'anonymous figure' sent in some juicy rumours to Tori Jericho to pass on and the effects should start… _now._"

'Now' was because Ruby Montag had arrived at school and was making a beeline for Sandi – and vice versa. "What's this about seeing Corey/Carey behind my back?" they yelled in unison, and slapped each other. A screamfest duly commenced.

"Targets One and Two done. Target Three…"

Brittany sought out Tori like a particularly busty bloodhound: "I can't _buh-leeve_ you're seeing Kevvie when you _know_he's mine because, like, we're standing together all the time and stuff!"

"What?" Tori was genuinely confused. "I'm not seeing Kevin!"

"Don't lie to me, you, you liar! I saw it tweeted on _Lawndale Hot/Not_!"

Tori thought back to the latest rumours she'd unthinkingly reproduced and realised, yep, she'd put one of herself up there. _"OH GOD!"_

"I'd say that's unfair on Kevin but I don't really care," said Jane. "You got revenge on everyone yet?"

"Not yet." She smirked. "But soon."

THE EN-

Daria's phone bleeped; she'd received a photo of an unknown Fielding student from Astrid, complete with a text message identifying him as the student who'd started a rumour about her & Tom in the library. ("The [Norwegian swearing]") Daria forwarded this to Quinn, with the text 'hdbt'.

"Now it's done."

THE END

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The Pigskin Channel's show is taken from MTV's old Daria website, which had a 'homepage' for the channel.

Ms Onepu is borrowed, with permission, from J-D's Not So Different series; Pat, Terry, and Sue Bentley are borrowed from Roentgen's Fielding stories; the names of Ruby Montag and Aleesha Nibblett to describe two background characters are from Excellent S's Lawndale Fighting Championship stories. The Shadow School Board, in another version, was in an earlier fic I wrote, The Shadow Education.

Astrid is not related to Ultra Magnus.

* * *

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME...**

_"Can't stand your lips!" _'sung' the guy on stage. _"Can't stand your eyes / Can't stand your teeth / Can't stand your thighs / That's why I love... you..."_Apparently as disappointed with his singing as everyone else was, he started to smash his guitar on the coffee house stage. "Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

"You've got stiff competition, Daria," said Jane to an empty seat. "Daria?"

In the full view of everyone, Dire Daria stomped up to the stage, grabbed the punk singer by his shirt, and dragged him off backstage. Soon, the most monotone moans possible began to be heard.

"I didn't know we could do that for an act!" exclaimed Kevin while O'Neill burst into tears.

"Café Lawndale closed until further notice," read Jake. "Isn't that the coffeehouse you were working for?"

"Worked, enslaved by, what's the diff?"

"School authorities have decided to close Lawndale's new young adult coffeehouse after its opening night somehow became the scene of-" Jake stared at his daughter as suspicions dawned. "Daria, um... I... um... uh..."

He ran off.

"_Wuss_," said Daria contemptuously before she started eating his leftover cornflakes.


	35. I Don't Like Anyday

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Episode 35: I Don't Like Any Day**

School was out, and for the Maleficent Eleven that meant it was time to hang around the teacher's car park looking as threatening as possible. (Until Barch hobbled out to her car, because there was a very real chance that she could beat them up) They'd already succeeded in making one of the Foreign Language teachers park three blocks away and they were hoping to get the Maths teacher next.

Ms Onepu, the new Language Arts/English/Dramatic Horizons/whatever-was-lying-around teacher was heading for the car park. Quinn nodded to the gang and they began strategically chewing gum in a challenging way. _This _would be-

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Onepu, her eyes widening at the sight of them. "You shouldn't be here!" (This was a good start) "You should be at home or at children's hangouts, unless… Oh _no_, is this the only place you can 'hang out'?" (This wasn't a good middle) "But this is so lacking in stimulus and there's the possibility of smog, this is not right, this is- If circumstances prevent you from going home, the school needs to provide you with a safer, more stimulating place to be!"

"Miss, you're giving me a headache!" cried out Quinn in confusion, horror, and confusion.

"I'll go _right _to Principal O'Neill and get this done – we have to look out for the children's welfare even outside of school, I always said-"

The teacher sped back the way she'd came, and the next day O'Neill proposed a school-run coffee house in town where all students could hang out and encouraged everyone to volunteer raising money. Nobody did (that'd involve work) but the damage had been done: Onepu had learned she could influence O'Neill.

And that led to a day that would live in infamy as really, really sucking.

* * *

Onepu had prepared greatly for her proposal to the staff. She'd done her research, she'd worked it out, and she'd put a lot of smiley faces on the PowerPoint presentation slides.

"…and so with the figures at _that_level on an average annual basis, we need to have a school shooting practice drill. It's just too violent a world out there for the children! We have to protect them from the people who'd hurt them-"

"Which in this case would be other children," said Tommy Sherman.

Onepu froze, having managed to prevent herself from realising that since she'd had the idea.

"It makes a lot of sense," said Mrs Nikahd. "Hasn't the school done it before?"

"Under Ms Li," said DeMartino, scowling. "JUST before SCHOOL ENDED. EVERY damn TIME."

"Not true," said Steve. "She did it at lunchtime once."

"And we're very grateful you got Angela to understand the problems of that," began O'Neill, before Mr Ayoade added "Tony jumped out the window".

"I'D DO IT AGAIN!"

"We'll take that into account, certainly, Anthony. I believe this is a good idea: with the right planning-"

"Aw crap," said Barch, who is wise.

"-it would valuable in showing the students how we're looking out for their welfare!"

"Will it involve me and the boys having to do something?" asked Steve.

"Well… yes, Steve. You're the security guards."

"Only we kinda got used to not doing anything all day and there's a football game on tomorrow, so I can't promise we'll be any good."

Tommy Sherman perked up. "Can we start the drill at 11? Because Tommy Sherman was gonna record the game but if I can see it live-"

"But then the children might think _they're _supposed to watch a football game if there's ever an attack!" said a shocked Onepu.

"Oh come on, nobody's that stu-" Sherman remembered Kevin. "Oh."

Speaking of working things out, this is what some of the teachers did after the meeting was over:

"So that's decided: before the exercise starts, we tell every Eleven member in our classes that _they _can go early."

"Bad idea," said Barch, "they may come _back_. Let's send them to the roof or something."

* * *

The next day, Daria became aware that something was going on. For a start, the security guards at the door were _awake_ (and not too happy about that), and throughout the rest of the day she'd seen one or two of them _walking around_. A little worried, she checked CNN's website to make sure war hadn't been declared or something.

Then in Science class, Barch told Andrea and Shaggy that they needed to go to the roof because quote "of something" unquote.

"Something really stupid is going to happen," she confided in Jane.

"Hahahaha, hey guys, lookit this, _HOMO ERECTUS!_" laughed Kevin at part of the textbook.

"Something else really stupid is going to happen."

"Might not," said Jane. "Maybe it'll just be moderately stupid."

"You've just been optimistic about something school-related. As I said, really stupid."

"Touché. Look, it's one minute until the bell rings and then we're onto Gym class and forget everything I was trying to say, you're right, stupidity and suck will abound."

* * *

Meanwhile, up on the roof:

"_Whoa! _Quinn, look at this, someone's written a dirty limerick on the water tank shack!"

"All _right!_"

"Hey, let's, like, add some ourselves-"

"No, stupid, if the teacher's sent us here they must've written it and if we add some we're doing what teachers _want us to do_," explained Quinn. "We should… uh… write it on the _roof itself!_"

"But nobody will see it," said Shaggy.

"_God _would."

"_Whooooaaaaaaaa._"

* * *

"Thirty seconds until we're out of a class with Kevin in it." Daria narrowed her eyes at the clock. "Twenty. Ten. Five. Four-"

The tinny sounds of a recorded WW2 air raid siren came over the school intercom, followed by the "pww pwww!" noises of someone making gun-noises with their mouth.

"Bad news, people, absolutely bad news! A gunman has entered the school – not a _real_ gunman, of course, it's just pretend – and you need to duck and cover under your desks and barricade the door – um, that bit's _not_ pretend, you really – oh dear. Um, I'll start again: _pww pwww! _Hello kids, we're going to pretend a gunman has broken into the school and practice what we'd do if it really happened. Just stay under the desks in your classes and wait until the all-clear is sounded!"

"YOU HEARD HIM UNDER THE DESKS!" bellowed Barch. "And maybe being stuck under there will teach _some_ of you to stop sticking your used gum and picked bogeys there _you know who you are_!"

Daria looked and saw Upchuck was at the desk next to her. "Permission to move desks?"

"Overruled. Sorry, Daria, any place I move him now will be in letching distance of some girl or other, and I can't in good conscience sacrifice them like that."

By the time Barch had said 'overruled', Daria had already dropped to the floor so she and her skirt would be down before Upchuck could be lying down & looking up.

_Extra time spent in the company of my classmates. I can survive this. I am strong. I am powerful._

"Hahaha, hey, there's a homo _georgicus_-"

_I am going to snark constantly to stay sane._

"Everyone STAY QUIET to avoid drawing attention, especially you Kevin!" ordered Barch.

_Aaaaarg._

* * *

"Coach Sherman, should we really be watching a football game during-"

"Yes," said Sherman, handing round the bowl of Doritos.

* * *

Daria looked at the clock. A minute had passed.

Daria looked at the clock. A minute and two seconds had passed.

Daria looked at the clock. A minute and four seconds had passed.

Daria looked at the clock. A minute and six seconds had passed.

"Ms Barch can I go to the toilet please-" started Mack.

"No."

Daria looked at the clock. A minute and ten seconds had passed.

* * *

"Shut up, the Devil's _way _cooler than Satan!" snarled Dave, punching Scarlett to get his point across.

"The Devil _is _Satan!" responded Andrea, punching Dave and then Scarlett. "One's, like, his regular name and the other's a stage name like David Bowie-"

"Hang on, _hang on!_" yelled Quinn, hitting Andrea _with_ Scarlett ("this really hurts") and then hitting Dave with, after a quick scan, Shane ("you're nearest"). "We're getting too fucking distracted here: the _point_ is to just write something telling God someone else is cooler than him! It doesn't matter _which _name for the Devil we use-"

"The Hamburglar," said Shaggy.

"Oh for fuck's- where'd I put that bottle-"

"No, no, he's right, the Hamburglar _is_ a devil figure!" said Angel. "He, like, runs around this paradise run by The Ultimate Man and _takes his stuff._"

The gang looked at each other and began to write out 'HAMBURGLAR EFFED GOD'S MUM' in large letters.

* * *

Daria looked at the clock. Two minutes had passed.

Everyone else on the floor had turned to their phones and was texting. Daria turned to Jane in hope but got a shake of the head – her credit must be out. Sighing, she turned the other way to see…

Upchuck leering at her.

Daria looked at the clock. Two minutes had passed.

Daria looked at the clock. Two minutes had passed.

Daria looked at Jane's watch to make sure the clock was broken and she wasn't stuck in a time warp.

* * *

"I got a feeling we forgot something," said Quinn. "What did we forget?"

"We drew an exclamation point."

"Not that, Spike. Something else. Something I can't quite put my finger on…"

"Weren't there eleven of us earlier today?" asked Burnout.

* * *

Jackie Wentworth, just as unaware of the 'get the Eleven out of class' deal as Ms Onepu was, was spending the drill in her English class sensibly. She was napping.

The frightened, nervous whisper of Onepu came nearer, checking every student was okay and not too scared and knew just what to do and "Miss Wentworth, are you alright? You haven't passed out?"

"I'm meditating to get in touch with my positive energies," said Jackie, remembering what one of the stoners had claimed one time in History class.

"Oh! Good idea, if it helps you through this difficult and stressful situation-"

Jackie's phone went off: it was Killer. She killed the call and sent a text instead, to fit with the drill: 'cant tk calls due 2 shooter thing'.

* * *

Up on the roof, Quinn did a spit-take with her spit. "Holy _shit!_ There's a shooter down there! _Look!_"

"I haven't heard any shots," said Angel.

"He must be using one of those silenting things! _Fuck! _That means he's a professional gun person! He's not just that creepy kid in the rainmack-"

"Upchuck doesn't have a rainm- _oh_, right, Alan." Spike's blood ran cold. "_What if Alan's working with him? _Maybe that's how the shooter got in without anyone noticing!"

"Oh man, Steve must've been wiped out!"

* * *

Steve yawned his way down the corridor, setting off a chain reaction that rippled down the guard ranks. Even the security puppies gave an adorable little yawn-bark.

"Okay, okay, you know the drill – groups of two, sweep the place, sweep back again, meet out the front, give the all-clear. Do it professionally, guys."

The guards made a noise of disapproval. It was sort of like 'uhhheeeeneeeerrrr'.

"Okay, I know, put your gas masks on and wave Tasers around. What the heck."

The guards cheered and did so.

"Move out, move out, yo Joe! I'll check the Gym!"

Steve went to the Gym, found Tommy Sherman's class, and sat down around the TV with them. "Did I miss anything?"

"Naw, it's still in the warm-up," said Tommy, handing him the popcorn.

* * *

The clickity-clackity-clickity noise of texts was getting to Daria. It was the sound of the rats in the walls, scratching out Lady Gaga lyrics in international Morse code. It was the main piece, backed up by the percussion of Upchuck's _hrrrrr-haaaaaa_ breathing, which Daria couldn't challenge him on because it'd mean The Leer. Every so often, Ms Barch would shift and give an irritated _grgrgrrgrgrgrg _as she realised she was in a room of men.

Jane had betrayed her and gone to sleep. Worse, Jane kept snoring at irregular intervals; the snoring she could handle, it was the asymmetry that was getting to her. She found herself trying to sort out a pattern to the snores _even though she knew there wasn't one_.

And there was olfactory evidence that someone, somewhere had just dealt it.

_I think, on reflection, that I'd prefer to get shot. Correction. I'd prefer everyone else to get shot._

* * *

'omg no wai omg' texted Stacy to Sandi, getting a reply of 'wai duh'. 'but nooooooo'

Stacy got another text: Jeffy. 'hey Stace doin stoopd shootin drill school how ru?'.

'Ironically, we're doing one as well! I suppose it is useful to know.' she texted back, then texted in reply to a Sandi message with 'squee!1'.

Another text: Jeffy, Tiffany, and one of the football team.

Without missing a beat, Stacy drew out her back-up phone and started to text on both at once.

* * *

"Way I see it, we've only got one fucking option," said Quinn, her brow set and her eyes harder than they'd ever been, evaluating the team before her. "One of our own is _down there_. Punks do _not_ leave someone behind unless they've pigged on all the beer, and Jackie _always _brought her own! We need to go down there."

"Killer, I'm with you and all, but we're unarmed," said Shane, scared and trying to not to show it. "What are we gonna do?"

"I'll tell you what. We're gonna call in _our bitch on the inside._"

* * *

clickity-clackity-clickity  
_hrrrrr-haaaaaa_  
SNRR-SNT  
clickity-clackity-clickity  
_hrrrrr-haaaaaa_  
_grgrgrrgrgrgrg_  
clickity-clackity-clickity  
_hrrrrr-_  
SNRRRRRRRRRR  
_-haaaaaa_

A text message came in and Daria fell on it like a lion on raw meat, even though it was from Quinn.

'Sis taking the shooter on! Need intel inside! Layout?'

She hadn't taken Quinn for a roleplayer and she'd given up after Sick, Sad Message Board's RP had gotten bogged down in continuity arguments (of course the bloody books were canon!), but what the heck. She was bored.

'2 hostiles working 2gether. Best bet is ambush w fire extinguisher, blind em: then strike.'

She wondered what Quinn would come back with.

* * *

Dave leapt down the roof stairs headbutt first, ran into no obstacles, and gestured for the others to join him. Moving fast, Quinn tore a nearby extinguisher off the wall and raised it like a machine gun (not realising it was pointing upwards now).

"Jackie texted back, she's in Onepu's class," said Angel. "_Ground floor._"

"Andrea, check twatical."

"Tactical," said Angel.

"Don't complicate things."

* * *

_hrrrrr-haaaaaa_  
_hrrrrr-haaaaaa_

Unsure if Upchuck's breathing was getting louder or just more annoying, Daria had started to grade each one on a scale of 1 to 10 for both qualities. After six breaths she'd revised the scale so 1 meant the same as 8 on the old one. Luckily, a text came in and interrupted her growing descent in paranoia.

'oi d how we gt 2 grownd floor frm hear? – Andrea'

'Rush the stairs and corners. Hostiles will be startled and not react in time. Use that second.'

_Damn. Should have said to go out the window. Maybe next time._

* * *

"Do we have to check the roof?" asked Bruce the guard, idly picking his nose as he walked (he'd forgotten his gas mask was on and was wondering why he wasn't finding anything).

"Let's just nap up there and say-" began Fred before a deafening roar of "HEY HO LET'S GO!" came around the corner, carrying punks with them. Fred started to say "double-you tee-" before Quinn opened fire.

"SHIT!" screamed Quinn, her face full of foam (or rather "shbbttt!"), and Fred finished "-eff?" before the punks came to a halt by colliding with him.

"Waaaaaa!" wussied Bruce, firing his taser at the nearest target – in this case, Burnout Girl. Before he could reload, Quinn worked out how physics worked and fired the extinguisher in the right direction, then scissor kicked him into the wall.

"Code 99 Red!" screamed Fred into his radio, "Code 99-" and then stopped because Andrea did the mother of all bellyflops on him.

"Burnout!" Quinn fell to her friend's side, terrified. "Burnout's dead!"

Burnout's living self coughed. "Whooooooaaaaaa. That was trippy."

"Burnout's dying!"

"Has my hair done that afro thing like in the cartoons?"

"Burnout's flesh wounded! Well, _no more! _It's an eye for that other thing now!"

* * *

Kevin yawned, and for once Daria agreed with him. When the text came, it was like a crappy little Bic lighter in the blackest night.

'assholes gt raydio + masks + called buddies! Burnout's down! TWATICAL!1'

_Adequate things come to she who waits. _'Hide Burnout in nearest bathroom. Climb out windows and down to ground floor – blankside enemy as they head up.'

Pause. Then 'Angel sez that wd brake legs'.

_Oh, like now's the time for realism. _'Improvise a rope or use some form of cushioning. Either way, use windows. Draw in enemy via their own radio, make the drop when they're almost on you.'

'Do we hav 2 steal this stuff?'

'YES'

'3 U SIS!11'

* * *

"Come on!" roared the gym, throwing popcorn at the TV as the home team continued to suck. "YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK YOU SUCK YOU-"

Steve's radio went off. Thinking quick, he said: "Oh no, the shooter's ambushed me. Ack" and then turned it off.

* * *

"Aw crap!" said Gutrot, looking at the radio with dismay.

With Steve gone, every guard had regrouped and was looking to _him_ for guidance because he had a macho name. Now finding himself with command, he did the sensible thing and went to Principal O'Neill's office to tell him there were _real _hostiles in the building and what should they do?

O'Neill proceeded to hyperventilate and crawl under his desk to hide.

"Aw crap!"

"Should we hide under a desk too?" asked Tony.

"Yes- _no_, we'll get shitcanned. Er…. Right, Forley the Wuss, you're a wuss so you stay here to guard this bigger wuss and you call in the police. The rest of us, we… we go up and take down the enemy."

"Aw crap!" said everyone (except Forley).

* * *

Using all their lock-picking skills (they kicked the lockers until they opened), the nine-strong gang checked a row of lockers for anything adequate. They found nothing and texted Daria for more advice.

'Be very careful then. Or use your spider-powers.'

None of the gang would admit to having spider-powers, and since their scout Shaggy was reporting the shooters were coming up the stairs for them, they had no time to debate on who the selfish bastard was who had spider-powers and wouldn't tell their friends. It was time to drop carefully from a first floor window.

'wot if wer left outnumbred!' Quinn texted furiously.

The reply came: 'Call in reinforcements.'

That made sense. Daria always knew how to handle these things.

As the gang proceeded to move ("OW FUCK OW OW OW" yelled Shane, the first one down), Quinn sent out a text to her parents.

* * *

"…and under both the First Amendment and the precedent set by _Reynods v. Lord Scumflagon_, we can argue that the statue of Satan can remain in your garden but we should propose growing a hedge to cover the to-scale penis from the neighbour's eyes-"

Helen stopped in mid-legal speak as her phone buzzed. She took it out, checked the text, and immediately got up.

"Mr Weathering, I'll have to cut this meeting short due to an unforeseen emergency. I apologise and I'll call you back later."

"Where are you going?" asked the Vice-High Priest of the High Hills Satanist coven.

Helen threw on her leather jacket in a stereotypically badass screen moment. "To _batter some cunts._"

* * *

"-and that's how your church can look far more _bitchin' _and really pull in the crowds!" said Jake.

"I'm not sure I can refer to Our Father as a, ah… that m word you said," said Father Martin.

"Hmmm. Good point, don't want to drive away _all_ of the old audience. How about we abbreviate to 'badass _mofo_' instead-" Jake's phone buzzed. "Just a second, I have to GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH BACK LATER SOME BATTERS GONNA GET CUNTED I MEAN I DUNNO"

* * *

Quinn surveyed her troops with a growl. "_Carefully_, we said! Damn it, guys!"

"MY ANKLE AAAAA"

"THIS REALLY ISN'T FUN"

Andrea, Dave, Shane, Koichi, and Scarlett were all in a degree of severe pain and unable to do more than hobble. This left Quinn with just Angel, Spike, and Shaggy to take on a whole unknowneth of scumbags. And she wasn't entirely sure about Shaggy, since he'd smoked a joint before this had kicked off and could be lost to them _at any moment_.

She texted the situation to Daria. The response was quick: "Hide them in a classroom. Duh."

Quinn was about to ask how (or 'how tf?') when she had an idea.

"Hey Dave, you're not a wuss, right?"

* * *

'uh STAAAcy who else r u txting?'

'no1 Sandi!' replied Stacy while, in Sandi's line of sight, actively sending a second text.

Sandi may have thought to challenge this big lie if Dave hadn't come crashing through the Geography class window ("HA I'M NOT A WUSS OWWWWW"). Four more malcontents were thrown in after him, followed by the remaining Eleven.

_"What in God's name-" _began Mrs Frett.

"No time to talk, shooters are attacking the school and _we're_ gonna attacking them _first!_" declared Quinn.

They left the classroom. Everyone still in the classroom, having heard 'shooters attacking', showed they'd paid great attention to the drill by utterly panicking and crying and running around and making a noise. Including Mrs Frett ("I'VE WASTED MY LIFE!").

Nobody noticed Stacy go rigid, get up, and leave the classroom, withdrawing a paintball mask from her bag.

* * *

At the sound of the window breaking, Gutrot gave a particularly loud curse. "They've doubled back somehow, _they're back on the ground floor!_"

"But we just ran _up _the stairs!" complained Medium-Sized Dave, speaking for all the other guards in being horrified at the thought of more exercise.

"Well…" Gutrot thought _what would Steve say?_. "It'll be quicker to go back down again, won't it? Gravity and shit."

The guards considered this a well-made argument.

* * *

Daria had time to think _was that a window?_ before Kevin screamed "Aw _man_, I just got a text from Joey and _there's a real shooter and he's got lots of him!_"

"So we should be quiet then?" said Mack, the voice of reason.

"Bro, this ain't the time or the place!" responded Kevin, the voice of that other thing.

As the class erupted into wailing, Daria realised she'd made a big mistake. She needed to text Quinn and explain to her this was all a misunderstanding.

Then she remembered who Quinn was.

_I'm going to need to draft this out._

* * *

"What's all the commo-" Defoe's words died in her lips as the Goggle-Eyes vigilante entered her classroom. "Oh. It's come to this. The gun and ammunition are in my desk-side cupboard."

_"Your assistance remains invaluable,"_said the masked stranger, accessing her Lawndale High cache…

* * *

"Is Steve with you?" read out Tommy Sherman from his phone. "Deleted!"

"Thanks bro."

"Tommy Sherman's no snitch, man."

"Come on pass the ball pass it _aaaah you suck!_" spat Mrs Nikahd.

* * *

Axl was in the middle of bribing the health inspector when Hellion Wheels and Jake the Snake entered the tattoo parlour, rusted metal chains looped round their chests and arms.

"Guys?"

"Axl, we're using these premises as an impromptu gathering point and command centre," said Hellion, her voice more deadly and serious than he'd ever heard. "We have a Code No Fun."

He paled. "Oh bugger."

"We're calling in our contacts."

"Which?"

"_All of them,_" growled the Snake.

* * *

Quinn and the gang rushed down the hallway, fire extinguishers in all hands, trying to remember which class was English again. They finally remembered and were nearing it when a gang of hostiles reached there first.

The two groups stared. No one moved.

"Wait… for… it…" growled Quinn.

Gutrot threw the teargas canister – and Quinn highkicked it right back at his head. The guards were all throwing gas now but the Maleficent Four were advancing at high speed, blasting foam and CO2 out in a wave of suppressive fire.

Shaggy stopped in mid-run, his eyes widening and mouth drooling as the spliff finally got to him. Only three left.

The punks hit the enemy like a bomb blast, striking and spurting and headbutting their way through the ranks, taking punch and knee but still going; Spike tore his way out of the group head first…

A blow to the stomach halted Angel's advance and she was lost.

"SPIKE KEEP GOING!" roared Quinn, turning back for Angel. "OUTTA MY WAY ASSHOLES-"

An enemy raised a Taser.

Pointblank range.

And then a paintball struck his hand, jerking it back at an angle – the Taser fired and hit nearby lockers.

The doors blew off their hinges and metal and book shrapnel knocked the group to the ground, leaving only Quinn standing. Quinn and the Goggle-Eyes.

_"They'll recover and there's more. We shall retrieve your friends and take position for a final stand."_

"Bitchin'," said Quinn in awe.

* * *

'THERE'S NOT REALLY A SHOOTER IT'S THE SECURITY GUARDS I WAS LYING.' Daria had texted this five times but Quinn wasn't picking up.

Across the room, Kevin had got everyone to shove all the chairs in front of the door. Ms Barch was allowing this to happen, trying to get in contact with O'Neill to find out wtf, but it wasn't working.

Jane was filming everything on her phone. "Sick, Sad World is gonna love this. Fame and fortune at last!"

"Not a total screw-up then," said Daria. "Want to help me think of a plan to stop this?"

"Nah."

* * *

The LCPD had set up a cordon around the school, watching every potential exit as they waited for the State Police SWAT team to arrive. That was the protocol. That was logical.

That went out the window when an army out of Lord Humongous' wettest of dreams roared up the road, bikes and trucks and battle-scarred black cars and a Skoda; an army of filth and scum and alternate bookshop owners, armed to the teeth and led by a man and a woman with death in their eyes.

"We're here to _retake the school!_" snarled the woman. "And I'm claiming rights under the Second Amendment! I wrote out an argument on the way over!"

The lead cop was pretty sure you weren't meant to let people _into _a siege but they did have a lot of sticks.

"Look, men," he said slowly and deliberately. "It's a Neighbourhood Watch scheme. This is all above board."

"We're gonna kick down every door and window at once and bumrush the bastards and STOMP 'EM!" declared Jake.

"_This is all above board._"

* * *

Ms Onepu had no idea what was going on. When Angel and Shaggy's bodies were deposited in her class by Quinn, Spike and…. someone, she had even _less _idea.

"Don't worry, we're gonna totally beat up the remaining shooters!" said Quinn. "DEATH TO TYRANNOSAURUS!"

"Wait, Quinn, I don't mean to criticise but I think you've misunderstood the exercise-"

_"There is no exercise in death, ma'am."_

The three left standing strode out of the classroom, weapons ready. The last of the armed men were waiting for them, Tasers high.

Seconds ticked away.

Eyes sought out targets.

A middle-aged woman got in the way and ruined the mood.

"Wait, _WAIT!_" Onepu put her arms out in front of everyone, requiring her to stand side-on and keep turning her head to talk. "This is really getting dangerous, you children could be hurt! And _you _could hurt the children!"

"She broke my nose!" protested a guard.

"I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason-"

"He's a fucking shooterist!" said Quinn.

"Oh dear, I really… Oh _dear_. We clearly didn't explain the situation properly, so let me-"

The attempt at rational resolution was ruined when the forces of Dega Street came in through every breakable entrance.

* * *

Daria was already out of the classroom and walking to O'Neill's office when the punks rushed in ("hi sweetie!" said Helen on her way past).

Daria was opening the door to the office when the army was fifteen seconds away from hitting the guards.

Daria was stepping over O'Neill whimpering self and taking hold of the intercom system when the punks were ten seconds away.

Switching it on when they were five seconds away.

"Congratulations," her voice boomed across the school. "_You_ just saved the school from the shooter." (Everyone stopped, thinking the voice meant them) "Now if you go to the Gym, you'll be rewarded with _a football game._ With _popcorn._"

The cheer shook the walls.

* * *

Steve looked up as the battered forms of over sixty people entered the Gym. Thinking fast, he dialled up Pizza King: "I've got a big order."

* * *

Superintendent Pascal descended on Lawndale High like the wrath of a particularly petty god, full of anger and a desire to fire O'Neill's worthless pasty ass for this latest outrage. All major news outlets are ringing his office non-stop, the state government was angry that another state of emergency had been caused in the Lawndale County area, and the repair bill for all those windows was going to be _staggering_.

O'Neill was going to die. And be fired. And then resurrected so he could be fired. Again!

When he reached the office, his opening roar died in his mouth: those bastard Morgendorffers stood between him and O'Neill.

"Hi! Jake Morgendorffer of Morgendorffer Consulting! We've just agreed with Steel O'Neill here-"

"mblblblbl"

"-that we'll help deal with the school's little marketing problem! And we can do it for you too! Not that you need us with this big a _success!_"

"Are you _drunk_, man?" demanded Pascal.

"Hey, I had half a beer, I'm cool to drive. Anyway, your trial run got a bit messy-"

"But as Morgendorffer Legal can tell you, it's the _school _that presses charges for most of it and it won't, and everyone's physical actions could be argued as being reasonable self-defence as defined by Maryland state law!"

"-but you've just shown that the students of Lawndale High are _badasses_ who don't wait around for help but yank themselves up by their jockstraps and _get things DONE_. Because that's how they're taught here! The teachers are _hardcore!_"

Pascal considered this. "You're hired."

* * *

"You realise that by getting your parents to do that, you just _saved _O'Neill and everyone knows it," said Jane.

Daria was about to respond when a spitball hit her ("you _suck!_" cried Kevin). "I need to surgically remove that conscience."

"Cheer up, at least you helped make things really messy and painful for a lot of people."

"That's always a good laugh. And you know, I think I learnt something today."

"I didn't."

"I learnt that next time we have one of these drills, I'm going to sleep too and not talking to anyone."

"You do the second part anyway."

"So I'm ahead of the curve."

* * *

The damage was extensive and the school would be closed for two days. Five kids were in hospital for ankle sprains. Utter chaos had run through the school and endangered the children, and it was all her fault. All in all, Ms Onepu was no longer sure she was cut out to work in such a challenging school. Maybe she should have gone somewhere easier. Maybe…

"Ah, Miss?" It was Quinn, still bruised from the mess she'd caused for the poor dear. "I heard that you were behind the whole shooterist drilling practice thing."

"Ah, yes dear, I'm sorry, that was me-"

Quinn grabbed the teacher in a hug.

"YOU.  
"Are the punkest teacher.  
"EVER."

(Onepu wasn't sure this was good)

THE END

(credits roll, featuring the instrumental "Standing on my Neck" and the following Alter Egos:

* Daria as a puppeteer with a sinister grin

* Helen and Jake in suits, with briefcases and normal hair

* Superintendent Pascal as the baby chasing the dollar from Nevermind

* Jane as the mighty Thor

* Stacy in the Superman pose, pulling open her jacket to reveal... a Stacy's clothes

* Steve as Buddha, asleep

* Ms Onepu as a punk, scowling at Quinn the 1950s teacher...

(la la LA la la)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This fic has its origins in an earlier, shorter "Modern Day Daria" ficlet I did (which first introduced Steve); The Angst Guy explained how school shooting drills really work, and it eventually snowballed…

Ms Onepu is borrowed with permission from J-D's "Not So Different" fanfics.

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME...**

In the parking lot of the Mall of the Millennium, Dire Daria puked her guts out and probably a few bones too. This didn't surprise Jane but it _did_surprise her that Daria did so into a paper bag, as if she'd been expecting this.

"I have a plan," said Daria. "Just in case the capitalist fatcats here turn out to be exploiting us for their fucking marketing. This is revenge in liquid-and-semi-solid form."

"What are you going to do?"

Later, Daria ran out of the meeting room, went to the edge of the floor, and dropped the bag downwards. The resulting explosion was so disgusting that it caused the nearest people to vomit themselves, which caused the nearest to _them_to do so, and so on in a chain reaction that spread throughout the whole floor. And then the smell wafted upwards and started to cause a rising reaction...

"I may have miscalculated." Daria shrugged. "Ah, whatever the fuck. _bleeeeeurg_"


	36. Occupational Hazards

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Episode 36: Occupational Hazard**

Mr Fuld, former Wall Street 'Master of the Universe' and current constitutional figurehead of Lawndale's Economics lessons, told the class that something "very exciting" was going to happen. This caused the Pavlovian response of near-every student getting bored _before he'd gone any further._

"You're going to experience some real life economics: renting an apartment, taking out a business start-up loan, planning an event, the sort of _important_ stuff you'll be doing after graduation," he said, justifying said boredom. "Your task is to go as far through the process as possible – but not _actually_ do it, _are you listening Kevin_" (he wasn't) "and then report back. You'll all pick an assignment and partner. Except _you_, Jane and Daria. You're not allowed to work together. Not after last time."

"You asked for a report on a business that was hamstrung by regulations," said Daria, "and we gave you one."

"The Chicago Outfit doesn't count!"

"They were supplying a demand, they had a strong focus on branding and corporate image, they diversified their product range-"

_"And you didn't have to do the report in roleplay!"_

"We were showing how creative you can be without regulation!" bullshitted Jane. "See, it had _layers!_

The teacher slammed a hand down on Daria's desk. "YOU are working with Jodie." He turned to Jane. "YOU are working with-" For that last crack she'd made, he racked his brains for the worst possible partner. "Chuck."

Jane paled. "Uh, can I do it solo?"

Fuld smirked. "Oh, I'm sorry. In the adult world, we rarely make financial decisions without having to consider someone else-"

"As shown by Wall Street," said Daria.

The slanging match would have continued if Kevin hadn't pointed out: "How can you have a street made from a wall? You can't walk on a wall, they're all… uh… vertigo and stuff."

Not for the first time, Mr Fuld stopped what he was doing and stared into the distance at something only he could see, his lip quivering slightly.

"Whoooaaaa, I don't think he _knew _that before, Kevvy!" said an impressed Brittany.

* * *

"Well _hello_, oh dark Juliet to my Romeo!" perved Upchuck, twirling his custom pimp-cane suggestively as Jane left school. "How would you feel if we, aha, _got together _now to discuss our new partnership?"

"Like puking, but I'll have to do it sometime so what the hell. Let's go to Pizza Prince."

"We could, but my little crib does have… _everything _we could need-"

"That's why I said Pizza Prince."

"Feisty!" he growled, before leading her to a Cadillac that was such a pimp's Cadillac (circa the 70s) that it was stopped by the LCPD on a daily basis. "Let's take a spin!"

"There's no front passenger seat… oh. I see what you did there."

* * *

Mr Fuld, much to his bitterness, could only enter the country club if he was a guest. Luckily, Brittany Taylor's father was a member and was desperate to bribe at least one teacher into giving his daughter a grade that wasn't a C. In exchange for a steady B Minus, Fuld could re-enter the world now denied to him.

This time, when Fuld and Steve Taylor entered, there was another guest: the Morgendorffer's father, as out of place as Idi Amin at the Red Cross, as a guest of Angier Sloane. From the Sloane table, the men could hear:

"…and it had to have been one of the girls who borrowed it from Helen's closet, so-"

"Ah, Snake, when I said I wanted us to get together and discuss how our children were doing, what I _meant _was…"

"Damn it, not him again," moaned Steve. "You know thanks to him, they stopped doing Karaoke Night?" (Clarification: he meant that as a bad thing)

"I don't believe this. I see punks _every day_ at school and sometimes when shopping, I don't want to see them _here_too."

"I know what you mean, this is where we go to get _away _from punks!"

There was a pointed cough; Michelle Landon, noted executive and humourless being composed of pure annoyed, had overheard the conversation.

"I could not help overhearing. And I wanted to join in. One of the local _flower shops_ has gone punk these days, for god's sake! Is it too much to ask that we have somewhere to get _away _from the riff-raff?"

A waitress chose that moment to walk past, and all three rich people glared at her suspiciously.

* * *

Daria and Jodie, knowing that entering the other's house would be the socio-political equivalent of matter meeting anti-matter, agreed to discuss the project on the neutral turf of Pizza Prince.

"I want to take out the small-business loan," said Jodie. "I assume you want to budget the funeral."

Daria thought of her dad. "No, I can stomach doing the loan."

"Alright then. What should we call our business?"

"Brink of Bankruptcy, Incorporated."

"Do you have a _serious _suggestion?"

"No."

Jodie sighed. "Well, I always wanted to be involved in helping start-ups or driving investments or something like that, so… Something Project Enterprises. That's 'Something' as in 'we shall put something here', Daria, don't snark."

"How about Faustian?" She met Jodie's death glare with a never-alive stare. "Can we at least call it Marlowe so _I'll _know I'm being rude and sarcastic?"

"Okay, but in return I want twenty minutes free of sarcastic remarks."

"Fifteen minutes."

"Done."

From outside the premises, the sound of a car arriving – and the booming sound of _DO THE CREEP! (HAAAAAA) DO THE CREEP! _from a car radio – heralded the arrival of a vaguely queasy Jane and a quease-inducing Upchuck.

"Ah. Someone's worse off than me," said Jodie with slight satisfaction.

* * *

Meanwhile, at Brittany's house:

"What do you think of this, Kevvy? We could plan our _wedding_! That'd be so dreamy!"

"Awww, but babe, the car one has a car!"

"If we do the wedding, I might think of practicing for what comes after…"

Kevin thought about his parents. "But that stuff's lame and you can't wish you'd gone out with Andre instead because we don't _have _an Andre at school."

It took them five minutes to work out what the other meant.

* * *

_"HONG KOOOOONG PHOOEEEEEEY!"_sang Jake and Angier as they left the club, as drunk as drunks. Many other patrons sighed in relief as Jake left, and went back to the growing whinge.

"This town used to be the _envy _of the county, of Annapolis itself! I could invite co-workers and clients down here and they'd be impressed!" snarled Ruttheimer. "Now they won't come down here for fear of being stabbed, and I don't blame them!"

"People have been stabbed?" asked someone.

"I'm sure someone has been," said Ruttheimer, not wanting to stop believing everything was bad. "And don't get me started on the state of our school ever since the freaks started up – no offence, Fuld-"

"None taken, that school is full of delinquents and harridans and people with long hair."

"They've got an entire _street_ to themselves now!" exclaimed Steve Taylor. "Dega Street, you ever _heard _of such a thing until recently?"

The rich people from a gated community agreed that they had indeed never heard of Dega Street.

"Something needs to be _done_!" spat Michelle Landon. "Only one percent of Lawndale are punks, why should they be allowed to effect the businesses and lives of the rest of us? Not that we can expect the _government _to do anything, they don't care about honest, hard-working Americans; no, we're on our own! We need to... We need to take action! We need to show that one percent that ninety-nine percent of Lawndale wants them to, to have a damn bath and cut their hair!"

"We need to go _occupy Dega Street!_" screamed Steve Taylor, and the crowds cheered.

* * *

"Okay, I want this done quickly and with as little effort as possible," said Jane. "Let's buy a car. We turn up at the car place and ask what it costs, easy."

"Oh, sweet Jane, if you want to get into cars with me-"

Jane immediately turned to Daria and Jodie. _"And what are you doing?"_

"Eating this pizza."

* * *

The first problem the protest had was that to occupy Dega Street, it had to physically be _in_ Dega Street. The assembled rich people glared warily at the goths, metalheads, punks, stoners, emo's, and normal people taking a shortcut, as if their wallets could be stolen just by the _presence _of poor people.

"Are we actually going to sit on the _ground_?" asked Fuld, and this was a valid question as Dega Street had the Pavement of a Thousand Vomits.

"Good question." Michelle Landon gave it some thought. "We need seats, we need sleeping bags-"

"_Camping out?_" Eric Schrecter was disgusted. "Can't we go to a hotel after?"

"We can't really occupy the street if we leave it every night," said Steve Taylor.

"Can we pay someone to do the night shift work?"

"No, no, _no!_" yelled Michelle. "See, this is what causes the minority to win, the 99% aren't standing up for their rights! We need to stay here _indefinitely_, to show we mean _business!_"

A passing punk vomited on the pavement.

"We'll hire some caravans."

* * *

"Okay, I think we have everything worked out," said Jodie. "And by 'we', I mean 'me'."

"I'm delegating this work to the expert," said Daria. "I'm treating this like a real business."

"Come on, Daria. Put some effort in, you need to know this more than me."

The outcast put her pizza slice down slowly. "What does that mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"I don't," said Upchuck, eavesdropping.

"I take it that this is some remark about my parents," said Daria, the temperature of her voice dropping to Jotenheim levels.

"Alright, it was wrong of me to suggest-"

"Both of my parents run their own businesses. I think I could learn something from them."

"They run… _specific _types of business with a specific type of clientele, which aren't related to what we're doing."

"Like any theory, it needs to be tested for evidence." Daria's eyes were merciless. "So you do this your way and I'll do it _their_ way, and at the end of it we can see who achieved the most and put _that _in the report. I'll see you in a week."

Jodie opened her mouth, shut it, and narrowed her eyes. "_Fine. _We'll play it that way. See you."

She stormed off, leaving Daria behind. Jane waited a few seconds to see if Daria would make a sarcastic remark; when that didn't happen, she called out to her friend.

"It was nice of you to suggest a way of getting extra credit."

"I realised two seconds too late that Jodie is almost certainly right about everything and that I'm going to make an ass of myself," said Daria.

"Well, I think-" began Upchuck.

"You do?"

* * *

The next morning. The police had been called to many a scene in Dega Street – including that time that damn Griffin girl had called them to report "crimes against fashion" – but this had to be the fourth weirdest.

_"WE ARE LAWNDALE! WE ARE LAWNDALE!"_

"Ma'am, we're not telling you that you can't have a protest-"

"But you want us to have it _elsewhere _where we're not calling attention to anything, eh?" spat Michelle Landon, steel in her eyes.

"Well, yes, we do want you to move-"

"This may not be a priority in the current government but the _First Amendment_ gives us the _right_ to protest! We will _not _be moved for the benefit of the unelected 1% that take this whole town for themselves!"

Officer Furman had stopped listening after 'may'. "Ma'am, your caravans are blocking the front doors of three people."

"Oh, sure, condemn us for making things _difficult_ for the powerful!" said Eric Schrecter, breaking into the conversation after he'd noticed it wasn't about him. (He had on a stylised Donald Trump mask) "_They_ can steal and torch our cars, _they_ can wake us at 3 AM, _they_ can crash our house prices, but when _we _make things uncomfortable for them-"

Schrecter prodded the policeman with his finger; Officer Furman pushed him back lightly. "Sir-"

_"ASSAULT! I'LL SUE! POLICE BRUTALITY!"_

Officer Furman looked around to see, yes, a whole bunch of people were indeed filming him; a great cry of "THE WHOLE WORLD IS WATCHING!" rang out and four people phoned lawyers (Schrecter accidentally phoned himself). After ten seconds of this, he began to slowly back away to his car, holding his hands up in the universal 'please don't eat me' gesture.

"That got rid of him!"

"But he'll be back and bring reinforcements! We need to call in more people to secure the site!"

"We can't. The stock markets are open."

Mr Fuld raised his hand. "I have an idea!"

* * *

At the Morgendorffers, breakfast was as normal: Jake had sworn his way through every single bite of his healthy muesli and morning pills ("I'VE CHANGED MY MIND ABOUT LIVING!"), Helen drank a vodka-coffee mix and threw up, Quinn threw up to stay cool, and Erin had headphones on so she could ignore everyone else's existence. This did not encourage Daria to speak up but, if she quit now, Jodie would look really smug…

"Mum, Dad, I…" She got up and turned off the Pistols CD, then went back to her seat. "Mum, Dad-"

"This better be important!" said Quinn. "We were almost at the bit where he swore!"

Erin took her headphones off, worried by the lack of punk music. "What's happened? Has someone died?"

"I have to do this project for Economics, where we have to take out a business loan and… um… I was wondering if you could give me any advice."

Helen smiled. "Very funny, Daria. Where did you hide the camera?"

"No, I'm being serious this time. You and Dad have a lot of experience and I was hoping… well… after school, maybe-"

"Hey, I can help too!" said Erin. "You'll need to sell your project to the bank, right? Well, sales are my line! Here's what you do: first, buy a shirt that's one size too small and remember to leave the top slightly open. Make sure to lean forward slightly, not in an obvious way but-"

Everyone was looking at her.

"What?"

"That's certainly a way of selling _something_," said Daria, "but-"

"Most of the loan officers will be male and middle aged," said Erin, who was very good at her job.

"And if they're not?"

"Well that's why you book an appointment with them, Daria! Forewarning!"

"I'm not sure I want my daughter learning this," said Helen, who'd headbutted forty-seven people in front of Daria during her first six years of life. "Do you _have_to do that sort of thing in Sales?"

"Only if you want the big Christmas bonus."

* * *

The Lawndale High security guards were _meant _to stay at school until school ended. However, ever since Li was deposed, there'd been six times as many guards as any school would realistically need and Steve knew that nobody would notice if half of them walked off for a bit (or didn't turn up). He'd taken some of the lads on a week's holiday to Cancun last week and nobody had noticed, even when he'd come back with a tan and a "I [heart] CANCUN" shirt.

Taking an extra job as a guard in Lawndale during school hours was, he reflected, taking the pee a bit, but if O'Neill hadn't complained when they'd held a Superbowl party at the front of the school…

"And you're sure you can keep us safe from any attackers?" asked Michelle.

"Reasonably. Who are you expecting?"

"The police."

Steve almost pointed out that it would be illegal of the boys to obstruct the police. Then he remembered Michelle hadn't paid them yet, so he just nodded like he was agreeing with her.

"Excellent work, Mr… Steve. You're in the 99%!"

"No, I'm here."

"I mean the majority of Lawndale! Like _us!_"

Steve nodded again, instead of pointing out the majority of Lawndale would be more than twenty-four.

"_I NEED TO BUY MY BLOODY GROCERIES!_" cried out Axl from behind a blocked door, but to no avail.

* * *

In the tones of a woman asking St Peter what the Book of Life _really_says about them, Daria asked her parents: "So how would make a presentation to the bank for a loan?"

"Well, first you tell it like it is and say 'hey you fascist bully-boy bastard, give me a loan!'," said Jake.

"Let me reiterate that I'm trying to _get _a loan."

"People like that respect strength," said Helen. "That's an opening gambit that says you've got their number and they don't scare you!"

"Wear your most aggressive T-shirt!"

"Borrow one of Quinn's most aggressive T-shirts."

"And then you do a Power Point presentation. Don't forget the pie charts! Everyone loves pie charts!"

"Pie charts of what?" asked Daria.

"Pie charts have to mean something?" asked Jake.

"It's also important to play the right musical accompaniment, something that really _emphasises_ your pitch and how _hardcore_ it is," said Helen. "Something about smashing the system and anti-capitalism always works, because they both get pulled along by the beat _and_feel insecure around you!"

"Mmm." Daria took notes. "I'm developing a theory here, but continue anyway."

"And then after the pitch, you say you want some fucking money. In those words." Jake thought it over. "Maybe say 'bastard' again too, you may have to wing that one."

"I see. And this has worked."

"_YES!_" cheered the punks.

"Do you think this possibly might be because you are physically intimidating and the loan officer was afraid you'd hurt him if he turned you down?"

"Nah," said Jake. "I did a _pie chart_."

Daria had developed psychic powers. For example, she could clearly foresee Jodie winning their little contest and being very smug. It was like she was there already.

"Do I want to know what pie-unrelated things went into your pitches?"

"The usual thing: a summary of the market, the expected return as a result of that market, the skills and experience we had and research done…" listed Helen, filling Daria with hope before she said, "I remember my first summary started 'The legal industry is being used to wipe the asses of the wealthy'…"

Daria wanted a distraction. Any distraction.

Aunt Amy chose that very moment to phone, turning Daria from an atheist into an agnostic.

"Hi, Aunt Amy- Huh. I guess you can stay, why? Oh." She lowered her mobile and said to her parents: "Aunt Amy's coming to spend a few days with us, so she can report on a capitalism protest at Dega Street."

"There's a protest against the fat-cats in the Big D-S?" Jake looked as happy as a pig in muck. "_Rock on! _Let's go, Hellion!"

"Already with ya, Snakey!"

Their daughter considered correcting them but then thought it'd be funny not to.

* * *

Jake saw the protest and he looked as happy as a pig in a sausage factory.

"Hellion? I'm scared."

The protestors booed the appearance of the Morgendorffers, and Michelle stomped forwards with Steve as her shield (he merely slouched forwards).

"You! You can't _intimidate_ us! We'll stay here until _Christmas _if we have to!"

Jake considered this. "Uh, don't you have jobs?"

"Why do you _assume _that just because I'm wealthy, I don't work? That stereotype's old and tired, anarchist!"

"But…" Jake thought how best to phrase it. "If you're here until Christmas, you won't have a job. Will you? You have to, well, keep turning up to them-"

"You'd be surprised," said a cheery Steve.

"We're going to work out a _timeshare_," said Michelle.

"But then it's not _you _staying here until Christmas," said Helen.

Michelle thought about this. Then she held her picket sign up again and yelled _"THE WHOLE WORLD IS WATCHING!"_. The others joined in and Jake, quite spooked, looked behind himself but could only see a stray cat.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the inaccurately named Honest Lee's New & Used Autos:

"Because you're obviously a woman who knows what things are worth, so you can see why this car is such a _bargain _at twenty thousand!"

"Not when my budget's at ten thousand," said Jane.

"For how many years? One, two, five? Because you spend ten thousand today for a crappy car-"

Jane raised an eyebrow. "Your ten-grand cars are crappy?"

The salesman froze, like a deer in the headlights of a wolf-redneck-truck hybrid. "It's just an example-"

"And the example implies your cheaper cars are crappy. Is the twenty-grand crappy too, or does the extra ten get you up to mediocre? And how much extra is it for cup holders?"

"Let me-"

"Oh, the joyous Jane _does_ raise a point, among other things," sleazed Upchuck with mock-concern. "That's an odd lack of confidence in your shining stallions and lack of confidence is just one step removed from…" Sad face, a baby who'd heard about school. "…_impotence_. And that's just not something we want when _riding_."

"I'd like it on the record that I _have_ to work with him on this," said Jane. "And you're making me _think _about buying a car and put in effort, which goes against everything I stand for. It's not a good ad for you."

"You heard the lady, your service just doesn't… _do it_ for her, and I'm looking for a car that will _certainly _do it, rrrRRRR-"

"Ten thousand!" said the salesman, mainly to get them to stop talking. "The car is at ten thousand! I… I made a mistake-"

"Is that what you say when the tax inspector comes round?"

"Oh dear, my friend, it's a bad idea to disappoint the ladies, if you know what I mean-"

"_Eight _thousand!"

"I'll throw in a free trial period at my website Nuns Having Fun-"

"_Seven thousand!_"

"Cool. By the way, we're just doing this for a school project and aren't actually buying a car." Jane waited for the scream of despair to end, and then said, "we make a surprisingly good team, Chuckie _wait I'll rephrase that_-"

* * *

When protestors settle in for the long haul and they don't have the funds to order pizza every night, they may often do their own cooking at the campsite. (This use of fire had caused a few unfortunate events at Save The Forest protests) Occupy Dega Street had decided to do their own cooking too, and by that I mean they had hired in a private catering company to do the cooking for them. The smell of roasting pheasant filled the air.

At one of end of the protest, Michelle Landon was giving an interview with a member of the press.

"-and damn it, why do we pay our taxes if they're going to be used to support these minorities at our expense?"

"How much of your taxes do you pay?" asked Amy Barksdale, automatically zooming her camera in on Michelle's expression.

She recovered quick. "Very little. Because they'd be used to support these minorities at our expense!" said the African-American woman.

"But earlier, you were saying that the quote riffraff didn't pay their share so they shouldn't have a say unquote, and wouldn't that apply to you?"

"I never said that."

"It was two minutes ago and I have you on file and I can rewind to that exact moment."

_"The mainstream media is trying to slander us!"_yelled Michelle to every protestor in earshot, a popular tactic when faced with a record of what you actually did/said/thought/did and didn't flush after.

At the other end of the protest, in the face of the police, Steve was doing his job:

"Yeah, we'll run away if you have to send riot police in," said Steve, pocketing the thirty dollars. "I wouldn't send them in though. The locals will attack them on principle."

"Well, we've tried to negotiate but these bastards refuse to accept that their selfish march is damaging this town's economy! Dega Street is a _wealth_ creator!" Officer Ruiz thought about that for a second. "Except for that one that's a fence for the Cavella family." Spying a lawyer in the protest, she automatically added "_Allegedly_".

* * *

It was crunch time for Jodie. She'd spent hours on the presentation, had her smartest clothes on, and was making eye contact like the world's most obsessive optician.

"... and so, Marlowe Project Enterprises plans to empower young people to make their own investment decisions, so that investing becomes as natural to them as, say, going out for a fast-food hamburger."

The loan officer arranged the papers in an official-looking manner. "Well, I'll tell you what. It's a fascinating idea, and very impressive presentation. But a girl still in high school with no business experience? You're what we call a "high-risk applicant." I really don't think the bank will give you a loan."

_Okay, time for Plan B. _"Could one of my parents co-sign for it?"

"That depends," he said, meaning 'no'. "Do they know anything about business?"

_That's a sensible, normal question. _"My mother is the vice-president of Wall Street World and my father is Andrew Landon."

There was a brief flash of surprise in his eyes, which he only just covered up, before his entire tune changed and he went for butt-kissing. And it hadn't been the right kind of surprise.

"Well, then, Jodie, you've got business savvy in your blood! Why don't I run your plan by my boss and see what he thinks? Maybe we can work something out-"

"Why? You don't give loans to _high-risk applicants_, unless maybe you're hoping you'll get a little business from their parents?" She stood up but didn't leave before throwing out: "They're the same high-risk colour _I_am, y'know."

She was angry for a whole minute and then mentally rewrote her pitch for the second bank so she could mention her parents as soon as possible. (_"I successfully got the loan by tailoring my pitch to what the bank wanted to hear," yeah, that's the ticket._)

* * *

It was crunch time for Daria. She'd borrowed Quinn's torn leather skirt (no, the other one), the Black Flag shirt with "WE ARE THE 666%" sprayed on the belly, and had consented to have her hair done in waves. Quinn had made her stand outside an old person's house to see how quickly the police were called.

"Three minutes! _Bitchin'!_"

A bit of tape around the bridge of her glasses ("_they_won't know it's not broken") and she was pronounced ready to go. And to keep Erin happy, Daria made sure to pad her bra and practice leaning forward. She was as ready as she'd ever be, except for the whole 'convince-self-this-is-a-good-idea' part.

The loan officer took a single look and then kept looking. "Ms Morgendorffer, I… I understand you're looking to start a new business?"

"Yes. Hey you fascist bully-boy bastard, give me a loan." Daria took out a CD player and started up Holst's Mars. Then leant forward. "I brought pie charts."

_I think I gave up_ before _I started._

* * *

"And how do you respond to claims that you're causing disruption for the locals?"

Michelle laughed off the reporter's question. "That's certainly how the authorities want to portray us but look around, do _you _see any sign of hardship for the residents?"

The reporter couldn't answer because at that very moment, Axl drove his motorbike off the roof of his house, screaming "I'M BUSTING OUT!", and land hard onto the tarmac, where he skidded, fell over, and his bike flew away and crashed into the protest camp's kitchen. Specifically, into the propane tank.

(And somewhere in Highland, a teenager looked up and said "heheh, I, like, felt something, like a million dudes screaming FFFFIRE FIRE-" "Huh huh, felt.")

* * *

"Well Ms Landon, that may have just been a school assignment but please come back to us when you're really going to start a business! You made a really impressive presentation."

"Thank you, sir," smiled Jodie, thinking _second bank I went to, beat that Daria!_.

* * *

"... and so, motherfucker, Marlowe Project Enterprises will be so bitching that the kids will realise how they can run their own lives and avoid the fascists if they do their own investment. And so we'll smash the system with the system. Rock." Daria turned off the Thunderbirds theme song. "Tada."

The loan officer stared at her.

"Oh. Did you want the song to finish?"

The loan officer stared at her.

"I guess not." Daria coughed slightly. "Um, you don't need a doctor, do you? A priest?"

"Ms Morgendorffer, was that… was that an example of how your business plans to _attract _the, ah, kids to your business?"

_No._"Yes?"

"Oh thank the Lord!" He started to laugh. "I was really worried for a second-" He made a subtle gesture and the policemen sneaking in behind Daria holstered their guns. "That's a _very_ creative way of getting across your marketing plan! Yes, I can see how this business would be effective – and your pie charts are _quite _illuminating!"

"My dad helped. It was his idea to put the skulls in them too."

"Oh! Would he be willing to co-sign the loan?"

* * *

"This is Awesomely Amy reporting _live _from the Occupy Dega Street fire! But don't take my hyperbole for it, let's zoom in:"

The rich were running around like headless chickens on speed, some trying to beat the flames out and others just running around and everyone trying to call their lawyers to see if they were liable. Michelle Landon was at the centre, trying to stop the fire engine coming in.

"We don't need big government! We can handle this ourselves! _We'll handle it!_"

Behind her, someone tried to douse the flames with champagne and wine.

"Money to _burn_, live on Sick, Sad World!"

* * *

Tom knocked on the Morgendorffer's door; it was answered by a terrifying apparition that turned out to be Daria.

"I can't think of anything to say that isn't dirty."

Before the conversation could continue, Jane pushed past the both of them: "Hey guys, I got a date with Upchuck."

"So why are you here- Oh. Of course."

"Quinn, what's wrong with your voice _holy god you're Daria._"

"Wait, I thought of something to say that wasn't dirty," said Tom. "No. Sorry, false alarm."

"After spending time with the sleaze that walks like a man, I never, _ever _want to hear a dirty joke or remark ever again. It'll cause flashbacks."

"That could be a problem," said Daria, "because Aunt Amy's staying over. You should hear her 'alien probe' skits."

"mblmblmbl," mbled Jane.

"I like the T-shirt," said Tom. "Awww yeah, still got it. Boobs. _Damn it._"

* * *

_"ALRIGHT!"_ screamed Officer Rankin. "Is there _any_ motherless son here who _doesn't _have a lawyer?"

Everyone pointed at the hapless Mr Fuld.

"He works for the _state _anyway, he's not one of us-"

"You bastard, Adrian, I was your fucking alibi when you were cheating on your wife!"

There was a twenty minute pause in the arrest of Mr Fuld, as Adrian's lawyer had to get everyone to sign a writ saying they'd never heard about the cheating.

* * *

"I got live footage of a fire _and _someone wealthy cheating on his wife!" bellowed Amy as she walked into the Morgendorffer house. "I am tabloid, destroyer of shame! I-" She saw Daria and immediately started filming her. "The Bodysnatchers are Back, a Sick, Sad World- sorry Daria, force of habit. Hi Tom, Jane."

"mblblblb hi"

* * *

Diane Bennett had been unemployed for months. If she were a man, she'd have a mood-setting five-day stubble on her chin. She wasn't, so she didn't. She did tend to prop up the bar at McGrundy's every day but couldn't even pull that off, as she kept buying the most economical drinks and amortising them. This meant she'd only been drunk enough for _one_open-mike night, a true blessing.

"Mrs Bennett? Lawndale High needs you."

She looked up from her drink to see the hated figure of Superintendent Pascal. Her lips curled back.

"You fired me to cover your own ass last year and now you come in like you're offering me a _favour?_"

"Your successor has been… in trouble."

She pointed at the bar telly. "Yeah, we saw. Who's Adrian anyway?"

"No idea. Look, it'd be easier for everyone if you agreed to let bygones be bygones and-"

"Nobody else is going to take a job at the school, are they?" Pascal didn't reply to that. "They're not. Watch this: _hey, Bum! _(He's a bum, by the way) There's a guy looking for people to work at Lawndale High!"

Bum, who fitted every visual stereotype you could imagine of a homeless person but with _twice_ the olfactory experience, jumped out of his seat like Frankenstein from a medical tribunal. "_Lawndale High?_ No way, Mrs B! I ain't _desperate!_" said the man who ate from the _Zon's _bins.

Pascal looked down. "Alright. What do you want in return for your job back with… with…" With a supreme act of will, he made himself say, "your old salary too?"

"A pony."

Pascal looked up, grinning, until he saw she was deadly serious.

* * *

Jodie and Daria met up to compare notes – far, far away from Dega Street because Jodie was just "too embarrassed to look at it". She opened with a shit-eating grin as she boasted about her easy win, only for it to be flushed away when Daria mentioned her own.

"I don't want to be rude, Daria, but this destroys my faith in business and finance being at all rational. And my faith in human beings, for that matter."

"You're better off without the latter. The real question is how the hell are we going to write this up?"

"Huh. Let's just let you write the whole thing how you want, that'll do it."

"You don't mean that. Really, you don't." She thought about this. "But I do, so how about I do the first draft and you can edit it?"

"Ah, what the hell, we've gone this far."

* * *

"And in con-clu-sion, this project taught us a _lot _about how we'd do a real wedding!"

"Yeah, like _never make a cash down payment OH GOD!_" wailed Kevin. "Ahhhh don't look them see me like this!"

He ran out of the classroom, which cheered Mrs Bennett up no end. The nostalgic glow of returning to work had been ended within thirty seconds of Brittany and Kevin talking.

"Well, that was certainly informative," she lied. "Now, let's hear from Jodie and Daria, who went out seeking a loan to start a new business."

The two girls went to the front.

"Before visiting banks to apply for a loan, we realized we would have to have all our numbers in order," said Jodie. "We also tried to anticipate the bankers' questions and be ready with detailed answers. Furthermore, we attempted to alter the style of our pitches to see which one would be more effective: a calmer, more outwardly cheery approach and a… more aggressive one."

"And it turned out what actually got us the loan was, in Jodie's case, name-dropping her parents so those names could do the work for us, and in my case it was letting the loan officer make a panicked mistake and encouraging him to keep making it. We learned that in real world financial transactions, blind luck and being sneaky and underhanded counts for a _lot_. And to illustrate just how, here's some pie charts."

"The blue slices on both charts represents how much of our preparations were _not_listened to or asked for by the loan officer, once we'd used our respective cheats…"

* * *

Jane and Upchuck's presentation got off to a strong start when Jane said: "We learned that the absolute best way to get a cheaper deal is to hit the salesman in mid-bullshit with _your own _bullshit and not give him time to think…"

* * *

"So the moral of the story is that real-life financial transactions justify our misanthropy and cynicism," mused Daria. "I knew this already thanks to every news story since 2007 but it's nice to get marks for it."

"You think Bennett liked it then?" asked Jane.

"Well I _did _have pie charts."

"I wonder how Jodie's dealing with this extra damage to her long-cherished worldviews?"

Meanwhile, Jodie was thinking: _Smooooooke on the waaaaaa-tah! Dad da DAH, da da DANA_. But when she started to think about the extra damage to her long-cherished worldviews, she'd think _damn it, pie charts, I knew I was forgetting something_.

* * *

Michelle Landon reclined in her expensive executive chair at her high-paying job and thought _I was worried there might've been some ironic event related to the protest, like I found out people from Dega Street were occupying my garden or the country club or something like that! You silly woman, Michelle!_

THE EN-

"Ms Landon, your maid just called. Something about your garden and people – Ms Landon, are you alright?"

THE END

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was first serialised in late October and early November 2011, when it was topical, searing stuff; now, just two months later, it's probably the most dated chapter of them all. Tough, you have to read it anyway.

Mr Fuld replaced Bennett waaaaaaaaaaay back in chapter 24, with her being marked for death by Pascal in chapter 23.

* * *

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME...**

Romonica and Claude entered Mrs Bennett's classroom and then exited consciousness after a bottle hit them both (Daria had practiced her ricochets).

"What?" asked Dire Daria when everyone looked at her. "Whatever they did, it'd be really fucking stupid and would've led to me doing something _anyway_, so why wait? I got shit to do, y'know."


	37. CSI Don't Care

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Episode 37: CSI Don't Care**

"I NEVER thought I'd SAY this, but the GRADES on these tests were MIRACULOUSLY above my low expecTAtions."

"Everyone must have spelt their names correctly," Jane told Daria.

The teacher stalked through the classroom, handing up papers as if they were dead rats taken from a CDC experiment. (Or how a normal person would handle those rats, since _he'd _have crammed them up the football team's collective nostrils) The students went over their results, congratulating themselves or feeling bad or staring with glazed eyes as they thought about boobs instead. Speaking of boobs, Kevin was cheering at his results and Brittany took a look.

"Kevvy, what's that _A_doing on your paper?"

Daria sat bolt upright.

DeMartino grinned a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Why, BRITTANY, that's the most INTELLIGENT question you've asked ALL YEAR!"

"Thanks!"

"KEVIN?"

"Uh, I got an A because… I got a 100?"

"That's RIGHT, Kevin. In fact, ALMOST the enTIRE football team, despite repeated CRANIAL TRAUMA and a chronic INability to solve the maze on a CEREAL box, got a hundred. Only Mr MaCKENZINE got a B."

"But I thought _you_were the smart one?" Brittany asked the stoic, burning-with-rage Mack.

"ForGIVE me my suspicions, but it's OBVIOUS that someone – **KEVIN** - got a HOLD of the test BEFOREhand – **KEVIN** - which would ACCOUNT for the JIMMIED LOCK on my filing cabinet – **KEVIN! **Perhaps you'd like to SHARE with us your INSIGHT into this?"

"But Mr D, I didn't tell Jimmy to do anything!"

Daria turned to Jane, worried. "Was he just sarcastic? Because I don't think I could handle the prospect."

"I think that if you DIDN'T steal the test YOURSELF, then YOU know who DID," growled DeMartino, staring down Kevin in attempt to make his head explode like in Scanners. "AND is it not true that YOU needed an "A" to get off academic PROBATION?"

"Take the fifth!" called out a player.

"Whoa, I didn't steal the fifth either!" said Kevin.

"You know," Daria said to Jane, "if you listen to him while thinking he's really being cuttingly sarcastic under the guise of idiocy… he _still _makes no sense."

"I WOULD threaten to give EVERYONE an F unless the guilty party came FORWARD, but this RANCID PIT you've made of a school is on a KNIFE-EDGE and can't afford ANOTHER academic scandal! SO! Instead, there's ANOTHER test tomorrow and I'll be looking VERY suspiciously at anyone with WILDLY DIFFERENT results… and anyone I JUST DON'T LIKE."

"Got Kevin coming _and _going," muttered Jane.

* * *

Everything was pretty much normal at the Morgendorffer house:

"Damn wussy so-called client! Scared of a little fire and piercings! 'But we're a religious bookstore', meh meh _meh!_"

"-now _listen_, you don't say _anything _to the pigs until I get there – no, calling them pigs is fine-"

"Damn it, Daria did it to me _again!_ This fucking book doesn't have _any _punks in it, just a bunch of Victorian guys!"

"Has anyone seen my earplugs?" (This last one was Erin, very desperate)

Daria walked in and everyone turned to look, especially Quinn ("YOU FUCKING BITCH!").

"Hey kiddo, how was your day?"

Daria shrugged. "Fine. I heard a new voice inside my head and Kevin stole a test, so we all have to do another one."

"That stinks, kiddo! Unless you _like _tests. You don't like tests, right? I didn't miss anything?"

"_I'll get you for this, sis! I'm still pissed about Neee-urro-manker!_"

Daria trudged up to her room, while Erin, alone among the unwashed, asked: "Daria, you were just kidding about the voice, right?"

"Yes we were."

* * *

Tom arrived later on, bemused to find the house shuddering under the sound of Radiohead from Quinn's room. Daria explained that her sister was trying to punish her by playing the music she hated the most.

"But you like Radio- oh, I see."

"So how was your day with the other Alphas?"

"Well, you remember I told you about the Morgue, the semi-secret website where ex-students have put up old class notes for the current students to use? The one that allows _anyone_ to coast to a gentlemen's C? The site went down and we had to take our own notes for a change. You should have been at Fielding today, it was like _everyone's _grandmother had died. How about you?"

"It was fine. I heard a new voice inside my head and Kevin stole a test, so we all have to do another one."

"What's this one say?"

"It tells me to set things on fire."

"Well that's just common sense. And hey, do you still hear anything from the voice Jezebel…?"

There was a brief and horrible moment at the Morgendorffer house when the Radiohead CD finished and Daria's room could be heard from again, but Helen thought fast and cranked up the Dead Kennedy's as high as they'd go.

* * *

Kevin parked his jeep in the school parking lot, wondering again why he'd been asked to meet in this dark, isolated area where nobody would ever go at night. What could you do _there?_

"He-llooooo? Can we do this quickly, because Brit said her headache wouldn't go away unless I bought tickets to Hearts In Unison and I've bought them and that means I gotta get to Brittany's in time or she'll be angry and I'll have to watch the film _by myself _to, like, get a return on my interestment, and I'd look wussy and not get any- Oh, there you are.

"Awwww _man_, you wanted to play _golf_? No offence bro, but that's-"

Kevin soon stopped talking, but unfortunately this was because of a violent crime rather than the act of a benevolent God.

When the first staff arrived at Lawndale High, they did _not_ find Kevin's unconscious body because that was nine hours later and he'd come to & gone to hospital at that point. Sending a threatening message is a tricky business.

* * *

An emergency faculty meeting was held before the start of school. The Superintendent was on the line and Steve had swept the staff room for bugs. (Well, he'd looked for a second and claimed he saw none) The meeting was then delayed for five minutes when Ms Onepu had a panic attack over a student being hurt – "WE'VE FAILED THEM OH GOD I'VE FAILED hihhhhhh" – and had to be calmed down.

"There is a, ah, extra concern here," said Principal O'Neill, wringing his hands. "The police are questioning poor Kevin and will be making an investigation, but… ah… well, not to be a downer but-"

"If the assault had _anything _to do with this school, the resulting scandal could murder all our jobs," said Superintendent Pascal, broadcast by speaker phone like the voice of a particularly sub par god. "If the police investigate, that scandal is triggered. I can pull strings and have them delay that investigation."

"What do we do during that delay?" asked Coach Nikahd.

"Work every angle, call every favour, and suck every genital possible to ensure our individual careers will survive the fall of Lawndale High."

"Oh. I thought you were going to say something about _us _looking into things. Y'know, trying to find out information on the quiet since we know all the students and-"

"What? No! That's _stupid_. People might _hear _you're doing it!"

"What if a student did it?" asked Coach Sherman.

"That's even _stupider_."

"No, no, hear Tommy Sherman out, I read this book once about these students that looked into this crime and then called in the police once they had all the evidence, and… and their dad was involved too but we don't have to do that-"

"Was this The Hardy Boys?" asked Ms Defoe.

"No," lied Sherman.

"I am not going to dignify this conversation with further responses," said Pascal (which is a Catch-22 comment really) and then hung up.

"So, um… What does everyone think?" asked O'Neill.

"Nancy Drew was the better detective but of _course_, the _men _get all the attention," said Barch.

"I THINK Tommy's idea is UTTERLY idiotic and FLAWED in EVERY detail," said DeMartino, "BUT we either do THAT or we ALL become UNEMPLOYED."

* * *

Daria was called into the staff room and the situation explained to her. She nodded at the right intervals and then said: "I can think of fifteen reasons for why this is a horrible idea."

"Don't see none of you with a better one," muttered Sherman.

"But since this is _great _leverage for getting out Gym for the rest of the month, I'll do it anyway. I'll need access to school files and records, in case there's any evidence there, and I want permission to bring in a partner."

"Why a PARTNER?"

"Investigating requires talking to people."

The teachers agreed she needed a partner.

Daria chose Cindy – one of the smartest people in school, the most popular girl in school (even Cindy didn't seem clear how this had happened), and someone Daria knew had no prior beef with Kevin. She cornered Cindy after a lesson and explained the situation.

"Any questions?"

Cindy opened her mouth.

"Any questions that don't involve how this makes any sense."

Cindy closed her mouth.

"Alright. I'm going to do some research and then call on you again. We have three days to do something-"

"Um, Daria, I haven't actually _agreed _to do this."

"Look, it'll be easy: I'll find nothing, you can also find nothing, we go home. We're untrained amateurs looking for specific hay in a haystack and all because the staff are going nuts, the chances that there's any point to this are smaller than Upchuck's sense of dignity."

"Then why _are _you doing this?" asked Cindy.

"I get out of Gym."

Cindy thought about this. "Can I get out of Gym too?"

"I guess."

"I'm in."

* * *

During second period Gym – _epic win!_– Daria was able to go to the staff room and, under Steve's watchful guidance, had a hush-hush look at the student records. Allegedly this was for evidence, actually she'd made this up so she could look at the test results for various students and have a big ol' laugh.

_Ha. Ha. Ha. H- whoa, Shaggy has a real name. Ha. Ha. H- Wait, what? Huh, didn't expect that. How about… huh. And- huh. Huh. SHIT._

"Whoa," said Steve, staring at Daria. "Your face just expressed something. What's wrong?"

"I actually found some evidence. Now I'll have to actually do something."

Steve put a consoling hand on her shoulder. "Yeah, I know _that_ feeling. Tough break, man."

* * *

Cindy was talking with some popular kids from her class when Daria came to her. The girl headed off to talk to her, and Daria could hear Joey saying, "it's so nice of her to do charity work!".

"We may have to do some work after all. I had a look at the records-"

"I don't think that's legal."

"-and I saw this strange thing. I saw that over the past few weeks, a number of our more consistent-with-a-capital-C-Minus students have been doing better at tests. Not suspiciously better, C Pluses and the occasional B Minus. It looks like they studied. And that means something suspicious is going on, because we're dealing with people who couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery because it would involve physical labour.

"And that's just the students that have this regularly. There may be others with little blips here and there. I got bored looking, to be honest. I thought this could be grade fixing again except that would require the entire faculty to be in on it and _DeMartino _fixing jock grades? As likely as the Taliban reading The God Delusion."

Cindy digested all this, and said: "Couldn't you have led with 'someone is getting the test answers illicitly' and then filled in the rest if I asked for it? No offence, Daria, but fully half of that speech could've been cut."

"You have the gist of it," said Daria. (_Jane would sound impressed…_ thought Daria's wounded ego.) "Now, I haven't heard of this before and I don't think you have either. The scores are only slightly up, which means they're only giving out some answers to avoid suspicion. Whoever is doing this is _smart_, which is good because that means there's only about seven students it could possibly be. If this was a half-assed conspiracy, we could be here all month.

"You're popular and you know the jocks. I need you to ask around, see who their contact is. I'll make my own enquiries."

"You're going to ask your sister?" asked Cindy.

"I didn't say that."

"Well, um, no offence, but you _do _kinda, sorta, only know Jane and your sister, so-"

"I don't see this relationship working out too well. No offence."

"You came to me-"

"_Yes_, I'm going to ask Quinn."

* * *

Quinn and her gang were mooching around some vending machines, kicking them because they were _there _and the gang was pretty sure that's what gangs had to do to vending machines.

"Quinn, don't be scared, but I'm going to ask you a question about _learning_," said Daria.

"What's that got to do with anything?" asked one of the teenagers at a school.

"I think someone's offering the answers to upcoming tests-" She saw the whole gang lean forward, interested. "-and that answers my question about whether you've heard anything. Bye."

"Sis, wait!" cried out Quinn. "You're sure about this? Because we don't know but we can find out!"

"How?"

That threw Quinn a bit. "Uh… We can, I dunno, jump out of cars and hit people? They do that on TV to learn things."

"Yeah, but that's what the pigs do, Killer," pointed out Shane.

"Okay, true, but sometimes you have to fight pigs _with _pigs!"

Daria walked away from the debate as fast as she could, thinking _so whoever's doing this is being selective about how they deal with. Sadly, it's all up to Cindy now…_

* * *

An intelligent, sneaky person that was hip to Lawndale's social interactions and rules would know how to play this investigation. They'd find one of the suspects, integrate themselves using their own rep and popularity, make up a story, spin it out a bit, offer something to something while intending nothing.

But Cindy had become Queen Bee because everyone else in the running had poisoned so many wells that the county was importing bottled water from another country. So she just went up to Joey and said:

"Hey, Joey, do you know the guy who gives out test results?"

"Oh, sure Cindy! I get them from Mohammed."

This method is completely insecure but _does _mean Cindy has a lot more free time than Sandi ever did.

* * *

Daria got Mohammed to come to a spare classroom during lunch after she threatened to hang out with him.

"You know Cindy, she's my witness; you know Quinn here, she's for my protection. Now, Mohammed, there's a few questions I need to-"

Quinn immediately dived on the man and began pummelling him.

_"QUINN!"_

"Well that's how they do it in Baltimore!" she spat back.

"No, that's how they do it on The Wire- okay, yes, that's exactly how they really do it in Baltimore but don't hit him."

"Come on, sis, you're messing with the Good Pig Bad Pig routine-"

"Wait, why am _I _the good cop here? When have I ever been-"

"I'll talk, I'll talk, just stop going on about things!" cried out Mohammed in despair, and had to repeat himself twice before the Morgendorffers would stop arguing.

"Okay. Mohammed. A few questions _I saw that Quinn _about this test fixing thing."

"What, _you _want to cheat? Because that's messed up, the brains wanting to cheat."

"Actually, do you have Geography?" asked Cindy.

"_A few questions. _The first is why-"

"Money," said Quinn.

"I'm asking him-"

"Yeah, but it will be money," said Cindy.

"Yeah, for real," said Mohammed.

"I'm going mad here. Fine. Question two: how do you get the tests out of the staff room?"

He shrugged. "Just go in when nobody's there, and really quickly."

"I see. No accomplices?"

"Nah."

"I see. I was sure you would do. Because-"

"Wait a minute!" said Cindy. "None of the teachers _keep _their tests in the staff room! You'd know that if you were actually stealing them! You're covering for someone!"

"You've just ruined my entire planned delivery," said Daria.

"Oh. Sorry. You didn't tell me where you were going with this."

_Jesus wept. _"I am getting so confused that I am in danger of forgetting why we are all here anyway. So let's get through this quickly-"

"He'll talk quicker if I hit him," said Quinn.

"Shut up. So, Mohammed: you've worked as the organiser of the student bets, you run the roller hockey pool. You make sense as the front man and dealer of these tests." Daria leaned in, trying to ignore how Quinn was also leaning forward and scowling. "But you didn't steal them. So someone else runs this and you're covering. Who?"

"Hey, Daria, snitches get stitches!" said Quinn.

"Sis, did _you _forget why we're here in the first place?"

"Uhhhh… you asked me to?"

"Good enough. Mohammed, please answer so we can all get out of here."

"One of the guards," said Mohammed, all attempts at loyalty and anti-snitchery collapsing at the thought of getting the fuck outta here. "The one they call Beef Stew, cos his name's Stewart and-"

"His farts smell like cows?"

"That's right," he said with awe. "_How?_"

"It's the security guards, they are an uncomplicated folk." Daria unleaned and continued to ignore Quinn, on general principle. "Okay, a guard would know how to pick locks without anyone noticing and they have a reason to check out empty classrooms. But he's not the brains. He can't be, he's one of our guards."

"Can I go now? You promised-"

"Sure. Cindy wrote down everything you said."

"I was to what now?" asked Cindy.

Daria resisted the urge to bite down on her own fist and go 'aaaaaarg', even when Quinn pointed at her and laughed.

* * *

When it came to Beef Stew, Daria went through her plan with Cindy and Quinn first. Then two more times with Quinn to make sure she'd paid attention. The security guard, lean and mean and wearing green socks so bright that they drew an unprepared eye down to his feet _every time_, was called in. He stared at then, sullen and silent.

"So you know why you're here and you're not saying anything about your employer," said Daria. "A man of the old school. I'd respect that except that would require the old school to have not sucked. Here's the thing, you're going to talk. Know why?"

Pause. Glare at Quinn, who remembered this was her bit.

"So if you don't fucking talk, you're going to-"

"That's what you say _later_, when- Okay, I'm missing lunch, I give up. You tell me exactly who you work for because if the school can't solve the Kevin Thompson hit, it closes, all the guards lose their job, and I will personally ensure they know you were involved and said nothing."

"They won't believe you," said Beef Stew.

"I said I'd _ensure_. Cindy's the one telling them."

"Hi there!" said Cindy at her most perkiest, adorableness radiating from every pore.

_"OH GOD NO! I'LL TALK!"_

"I'll tell you why!" snarled Quinn, slamming her fist down. "Because if the school can't-"

"We covered that, Quinn. When the sounds come out of moving mouths, you're supposed to listen."

"Fuck that."

"Do you still want me to talk?" asked Stew.

"Sure, why not?"

"It was that blonde girl, Tori Jello."

"Jericho." Daria grinned the grin of someone who didn't know how you grinned but had seen a photo of a grin once. "Of course. Now then, friend: you know who hit Kevin Thompson?"

Patient silence, before: "Oh, sorry, I thought you were going to tell me."

* * *

"Can I hit Tori Jericho?" asked Quinn. "Please?"

Tori Jericho was not only a popular girl, she was a font of gossip and social trivia and kept an in-depth record of how popular (or not) any given student was. And she'd crossed Daria twice now, so Daria said: "Maybe."

"I think I've got this," said Cindy. "Tori is smart, at least at some things, and is certainly well organised; only popular kids had better grades, nobody else; and… did we have another reason why it had to be her?"

"None I could print," said Daria. "So, we know Tori heads this racket. Even Quinn could work out why Kevin was hit now."

"Er… shit, it'll come to me… um… because he…" The lights went on in Quinn's eyes, albeit a sputtering little ember. "_OH! _Kevin was stealing tests himself! Muscling in on her turf! He had to get cut! I mean hit! Is that it?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes, that'll do. And that's the one problem: Tori can't have hit Kevin. She'd be compromising herself. And she'd have to do some actual work."

"Kevin was hit in the parking lot, he wouldn't turn up unless the attacker was someone he knew, right?" asked Cindy.

"That narrows it down some. Can't be someone he knows too well though, Tori needed someone she knew _would_hit him. And one that made sure he went to the hospital and not the morgue-"

The lights of a thermonuclear airburst went off in Daria's eyes.

"The Morgue went offline yesterday."

"Shit, so do you have to fill in a form to hand over a dead guy or what?" asked Quinn.

"I have to check with a contact. Cindy, Quinn, do you know anyone in another school?"

"Fuck yeah, Death Rowe's in Oakwood-"

"Someone else?"

* * *

"Hey, guys!" Steve called into the staff room. "The entire Maleficent Eleven just left school grounds-"

The teachers cheered, punched the air, and hugged each other.

* * *

"You think the Morgue's been _hijacked_?" Tom had taken the call and made Daria very happy by understanding the situation without interrupting her, pointing out flaws, or being Quinn. "It's a cunning plan. Take it away from the public, then provide access to all the notes for a fee – and at this school, that's a big fee in the same way the Grand Canyon is a big hole."

"Someone will be acting as Tori's front," said Daria. "Find out who."

"It has to be someone with clout, if they can neutralise the Morgue and not get beaten up. I may need to bring in other people in this. In which case, I'd like to be called the Something Something Irregulars-"

"Oppressive Bourgeoisie Irregulars."

"Sold."

* * *

The Dirty Decade – previously the Dirtiest Dozen before Flip had been expelled and Bruiser Mofo had converted to Buddhism – were lounging with malicious intent in the Oakwood High car park. Feral in hoodies and piercings and home-made tattoos declaring Thug Life, Westside, Mum, and Bring Back 'The Middleman', the group made sure to spit in unison when a teacher was looking.

"Yeah, showed her, yo-"

"Yeah, motherfucker!"

"Aight!"

"Ra_ther_!"

Big Dee looked at Noticeably S.H.O.R.T. with long-suffering patience. "You still ain't got it down, man."

Noticeably, born Quentin Bryce-Featherington II, looked down. "I know, but I'm _trying_."

"Yo, yo, hold up, Mal-El!" called out Black Guy, the only person in the whole gang who wasn't whiter than an albino klansman rally. "Mal-El!"

"That's not Superman, bitch! That's Killer and her crew!"

"He said _Mal_ – oh, fuck it," said Big Dee, grabbing the nearest weapon (a maths textbook). "_Killer!_ You're off yo _turf!_"

"Don't get your panties in a wash, fucknuts, we're just here to talk."

Then Quinn headbutted him and the whole Eleven attacked, because if they hadn't done that the Decade would've felt insulted.

* * *

"You are asking me to talk to both the Tops _and _the swim team for no reward," said Astrid Magnus, folding her arms. "This is a bad sales pitch, Thomas. I want compensation."

"No, Astrid. I've told you before-"

"Nobody needs to know. It can be our secret."

"No. Not again. Never again. If Daria found out-"

"Let us be clear, Master Sloane, if I do not agree to this, _you _have to talk to Sue Bee."

"Fine. _Fine._" Tom looked around, hoping nobody had heard the conversation. "Tomorrow night."

He'd known from the start that he'd cave, but _damn it_, couldn't Astrid find someone else – _anyone _else – to play Disco Rock Band with?

* * *

Quinn's call came in, sounding breathless: "Right! We've proven I'm fucking awesome _and _found something out: they've got a test cheat racket starting here too, yeah? Etan O'Malley, the one in the football team who, er, does the running… thing… Yeah, that twat, he's the front! We're gonna hit him to find stuff! Then we'll go hit people at Lawrenceville!"

"I don't think we need to check another school."

"…oh, right, we can do that at Lawrenceville too."

Daria hung up in an attempt to escape.

Tom called in soon after: "I've got some feelers coming back from my contacts, and yes I do just mean Pat, Terry, and Astrid. Word's gone out to some of the key sports teams and popular people: someone is offering access to the Morgue for a price. Here's the cunning bit, the front men _aren't_ untouchables, they're some of the computer nerds _claiming they're trying to get the site back. _The way they tell it, someone at Lawndale High is behind this and is making demands to them; they're go-betweens for the go-betweens, claiming to be secretly working against them…"

"When they actually helped bring the Morgue down so they can make their old tormentors suffer. I like the sound of them. Let's leave them be when we shut this down."

"The contact is some guy I don't remember. His name is Charles, I think."

"Must be a fake name." Daria turned to Cindy, who'd been reading a book since she had nothing to do. "Cindy, there's another contact here but they're using a fake name, 'Charles'. Ever heard that nickname?"

"Not ringing a bell. Hmmm… Charles, Charles…" Cindy frowned. "Hey, isn't Upchuck's real name Charles?"

"…in fairness to me and Tom, it is legitimately hard to not view 'Upchuck' as his real name. He embodies it so well."

* * *

The Rollerboys of Lawrenceville rollerbladed towards the Eleven as one, but were undone when the punks just pushed them backwards and they lost balance.

* * *

Cindy drew Upchuck up to the school roof by being… well, a girl who was cute and nice. It was not something that required much effort. (Though she did _smile _at him, something that hadn't happened since he'd been kicked in the groin in view of a girl)

Daria cut off his retreat once he was on the roof, and snapped her fingers to summon the hulking form of Bob the Punk.

"Bob here doesn't like cheating. That requires morals and that's too much work, so I remain indifferent, but he thinks everyone should be doing an honest day's study for an honest day's scribbles on paper."

"If you don't study, you have to rely on _managers_," growled Bob, saying 'manager' like the Spanish Inquisition said 'heretic'."

"So I want to know the exact details of your involvement with Tori and how she got you to take over the Morgue to get a racket in Fielding, and how she runs it here. And let's be clear, Upchuckism's make Bob mad too. Or should do."

Upchuck cleared his throat. "W-Well, Tori runs a test answers racket here and paid me to take over the Morgue so she could get a racket in Fielding."

"Oh. That was faster than I thought. You don't happen to know who beat up Kevin, do you?"

"Wasn't Quinn supposed to be telling us if she learnt anything about that?" asked Cindy.

* * *

"Why are we here again?" asked Shaggy in the middle of battle against the Oakpine Scooter Crew.

"To _fight_ people!" said Quinn, an existentialist figure.

* * *

"Quinn has outlived her usefulness," said Daria. "Cindy, I need you to do something I was hoping we could avoid: go talk to Kevin."

"Oh, that's no problem. I like Kevin!"

Daria stared at her, realising that a great and terrible gulf existed between them. "Good for you. I'll question Tori Jericho."

* * *

Tori checked, for the third time that very minute, the email account for _Lawndale Hot/Not? _to see if she'd got any new gen. She had one from Cindy: 'Daria's asking about the grade fixing and she knows it's you. Meet me behind the library and I'll tell you everything.'

That was… problematic. She'd picked up that Dyke Morgaydorffer had been seen near Cindy and had been speculating why, but this hadn't been expected. The bitch was sneaky enough to dig up all the dirt, Tori had to know _exactly_what was already known before she could do damage control.

And just in case someone might need to have another 'accident' like Kevin had.

* * *

The Maleficent Eleven rolled into Eagleton High to kick some heads and were surprised to find absolutely nobody outside.

"Oh yeah, it's fifth period now," realised Spike.

"Then we just wait until school finishes!" said Quinn. "Ha, whiny-ass bitches, thinking going to class will save 'em!"

* * *

After fifth period ended, Tori sneaked around the library – hoping nobody saw her, because _ewwww_– and looked about for Cindy. The girl was waiting for her, looking nervous, the face of someone who'd realised halfway up that Everest was a fucking long climb.

"Cindy, hi. How much does Daria know?"

"Upchuck and the guard have given your name up, and she's got you tied to Oakwood _and_ Fielding. She's hoping to corner you after sixth or seventh period. _She thinks I've already left school to see Kevin_, alright? She's waiting until then. She thinks I'm on her side."

"Left school? Won't you – oh." Tori closed her eyes. "The teachers know I've been taking the tests?"

"Daria's checking it for them but she hasn't told them what she's found yet."

There was still hope. "Okay, I can get everyone to be quiet. No one willingly talks, Daria's got nothing, right? And she might be encouraged to keep quiet."

"You're going to have her _attacked?_" Cindy sounded worried once again. "That's… that's further than-"

"I'm sure she won't be hurt if she's reasonable. Go see Kevin."

* * *

"Spock – can I call you Spock? Okay, bit late for that." Tom leaned over the acne-ridden, podgy computer nerd, who to his credit kept staring back with defiance. "Look, we _know _you killed the Morgue. We also know you have access to it and who you're working with. Thing is, those people? They're being hunted down. We know who they are."

"'We'? Dude, stop pretending you're in a cop show, it's _lame._"

"Spock raises a valid point," said Astrid.

"Spoil my fun."

"You want me and my crew to cut ties and just bring the Morgue back like we claim we're trying, right?" sneered Spock. "Screw that! If the racket's dead, we'll just _delete_ the place and those elitist shits can all _study _for a change! See how their 'gentlemen's Cs' go then! Serve them right for all-"

"I will kiss everyone involved if they bring the Morgue back," said Astrid, the incredibly attractive blonde woman.

Spock's mouth succumbed to Newtonian physics.

"This may not work on the girls involved though."

"Then _I'll _kiss them," said Tom, before: "Wait, no, Daria. Hmmm. I could ask Pat?"

"Will he agree?"

"He will unless he wants to stay awake in Quant class from now on." Tom sighed. "Spock, you can close your mouth now."

"I think he is broken."

* * *

Hospitals were _cool_, Kevin thought. It was like staying in bed only you didn't _have_to get up to pee, and someone would still bring you meals in bed instead of saying you weren't six anymore! Man, he needed to be injured more often.

There was a knock on his door. "Hello? Kevin, it's me, Cindy."

_Whoa! _Girls turned up too? Man, he had to be asleep for this to happen in bed! (He tried to remember if he was with Brittany or if they'd broken up this week, then decided to wing it)

"Hey, Cindy! Did you know you don't have to get up to pee? You can go in bed here! Uhhh, not _really _in bed though, that'd suck. But in a little metal thing."

"Hee! You're funny, Kevin!"

"Thanks!" (_And I didn't even need to tell a joke either! I rule!_)

"I was just wondering… umm… The person who hit you-"

"Oh wait, sorry Cin," he said apologetically. "If I tell the feds or anything, that'd be snitching. And that's not cool!"

"I'm not a cop though."

"Oh yeah. I guess it's okay then! It was…"

* * *

The bell rang, marking the end of a school day at Eagleton.

"Alright, school's fucking out!" cheered Quinn. "TO THE ZON!"

* * *

Daria hung around, watching the other students leave. She hated being in Lawndale any longer than necessary (and for however long was necessary, come to that), but Tori had passed word to her and the word was they needed to meet. And meet a time when nobody would see and think that, horror of horrors, they were friends.

After a few minutes, she headed for the girl's locker room. Jane was tailing her; anything went wrong, she could call out and Jane would run in.

Tori was already waiting in the locker room: "I hear you've been asking about me."

"That's right. I know of your involvement in three schools and I have people who can confirm it's you. It'd be a good idea if you came clean about everything. Then I can go home."

"Oh, Daria." Tori smiled. "Upchuck and Stew? They won't talk; I've already spoken to them. They're preparing to cover their tracks so it can't be traced back to them either. All you'll get is, what, Mohammed, those freaks at Fielding, O'Malley at Oakwood?"

"I see," said Daria quietly. "I'll still know."

"You should really forget."

"Is that a threat? Are you threatening me with physical violence?"

"Well, _duh_. Weren't you brains supposed to be smart?"

"I call your bluff. You won't get your hands dirty here."

"O'Malley _isn't _here. He'll do it for free if it'll get you to 'forget' about him too."

"Good plan. Very good. One problem though." Daria held up her mobile phone, which just so happened to be in a call at the time. "That's the staff room on the other end. In the words of a very wise cartoon character, ha ha."

Tori turned whiter than a shut-in ghost.

"Now, the faculty won't want another grade scandal so I imagine they'll fix things quietly. But you're going to cough up _exactly_who did in Kevin or-"

"Wait, _I _don't know that! How'd I know that?"

Daria stopped in mid-threat. "Hang on a second."

* * *

"…Bub the Sub," said Kevin.

Cindy thought about that. "Wait, I know this one: the Canadian guy who's in the team? And because he's a substitute you call him 'Bub' so he can have the full nickname-"

"Whoa! You know football!" said Kevin, quite impressed. "Yeah, he asked to meet me after dark to talk about something. I think he thought I'd been seeing his girl."

"Had you?"

"Yeah! She's _hot! _So that's probably what it was about."

* * *

"I don't believe this." Daria had facepalmed so much that her forehead was going to get prints. "I have wasted a whole day."

"Why didn't you just get someone to ask Kevin at the start?" asked Jane.

"Because it's Kevin."

"Fair enough. But hey, you busted a criminal conspiracy."

"Yes, I ensured Fielding students still get to be lazy, I had a security guard fired, I've got Mohammed and Upchuck against me after they got suspensions, I've got the Oakwood football team pissed because they know I got their runningback suspended, and I've made Cindy a target for Tori because of that sting op. All in all, it's a good day's work."

"And you're a target for Tori when _she's_back from suspension, don't forget that."

"Oh yes, I forgot that due to things being kept quiet, she's not getting expelled and I'll still have to see her every day. Did I miss anything else?"

"_Lawndale Hot/Not?_ is reporting rumours that you and Cindy are totally gay with each other."

"Hat trick." Daria sighed. "Well, at least I still get Gym off for making the teachers happy so it's not _all _bad."

"It's a disappointment, amiga. I thought you'd cause _way_more damage and disruption. You're slacking."

* * *

"Our contact at the Maryland Bugle says they're going to lead with the Lawndale County school rampages, sir. All of the county's local papers are doing the same and Fox News has it too: both the county, the Mayor's office, and Lawndale County PD are coming under fire…"

"Again. Goddamn it…" Governor O'Malley rubbed his tired eyes. "Alright, fuck it. Call another meeting of the Lawndale Incident Commission, and MEMA Director Muth and Guard Commander Hinz are _damn well _turning up this time…"

THE END

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Eagleton, Lawrenceville, and Oakwood's runningback Etan O'Malley (no relation to the Governor of Maryland) are from the old MTV websites; Kevin listed them when talking about the local high school teams.

The Morgue is another concept from Roentgen's The Hallowed Halls of Fielding.

* * *

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME...**

"Welcome to Casa de Chuck, _bella senorita_. Oh, don't worry about the blinds, toots. This torrid affair shall remain our little secret - as it must."

"Bitch, I'd rather shove the mouse up there," said Daria.

"Oh, you can play hard to get, but yes: passion can wait until-"

"Right, I'm completely bloody sick of this." Daria picked up the saw.

* * *

"In conclusion, I decided 'fuck it, what did the mouse ever do to me?' and tried negative reinforcement on the ginge here. Through use of threatened violence towards the scrotal area and actual violence to the face, Chuck was able to cease talking to any women ever. As a side effect, the new primary response to everyday stimuli is fear."

"Excellent job, Daria!" said a happy Barch. "You get an A Plus!"

"_eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_" screamed Upchuck, his bruised eyes staring into a void.

"Shut up, you... you man! _You _get a D!"

"Awww, come on, Ms Barch. Give the poor bastard an A, he did help."

"Oh, very well. It is Thanksgiving and all."

"_eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_"


	38. Highland Lassie

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Episode 38: Highland Lassie**

Then:

October 31st 2009.

"Ding dong! Huhuhuh."

A grim figure of staring, corpse-faced doom opened the door, and on top of that Daria had painted her face like a skull.

"How terrifying. Beavis, Butt-head, and Stewart, _together _at my house."

"I'm Beavis," said Butt-head in a Metallica shirt. "Uh… 'heh heh'."

"And I'm Butt-head," said Beavis in an AC/DC shirt. "Kick or treat?"

There was an expectant pause. Butt-head solemnly picked his nose.

"Hurry up and come in before the neighbours see you."

Inside was a seething, toxic mess of delinquents, young and old, headbanging and chest-bumping and binge drinking as the sounds of Black Flag and Misfits filled the house. Most of them seemed to have come dressed as themselves. In the middle, Hellion Wheels and Jake the Snake had gone as the most terrifying costume possible, _people in suits._

"Whoa! This party kicks _ass!_"

"Heheheheh, parties are cool! You, like, get to drink a lot and eat all the crap and eheheheh get really hyper and then _trash_ the place…" Beavis searched for a way to fully get the glory across. "It's like being at _home_… except you're at someone _else's _house."

Stewart not-so-quietly fled the house, much to Daria's relief. Now she just had to get rid of the other two, preferably before

"Uhhh, hey, Daria, why aren't _you _cool like these guys? Huhuhuhuh."

too late.

"If I was as cool, and I use this term to describe my family under protest, then my family would seem _less _cool because it can't be cool if people like me do it."

The lads digested this. Looks of horror began to creep across their faces, men who'd just stared into the abyss.

"Daria, you better not ever start liking Pantera or I'll kick your _ass! _I mean it! AAAAA!""

"Whoa!" Butt-head had lost track of what was being said just ten seconds ago. "What are those things in the water?"

"They're called apples, Butt-head."

Daria continued to rack her brains for a way out, while her parents announced it was time to tell scary stories.

"I've got one!" said her dad. "It was a dark, grim, moonlight night – a boy was out camping with his father…"

"I got a better one!" said Quinn, headbutting her own dad aside. ("Way to go, Killer!") "So there was this vampire, right? And it lived in a castle it was totally a fatcat fascist, and then… then it _ate_someone! So they were dead!" She shone a torch under her face. "THE END!"

"Can we have the abridged version next time?" asked Daria.

"_Mum, Dad! Daria's oppressing me!_"

"I got a story, hehe." Beavis took the torch and shone it through his ears. "Okay, like, um, once upon a time there was this dude and he had, like, two sons… No! _Three_ sons! And then, like, the dude met this _lady_, and she has three beautiful daughters… and then heheheh they get married and live together, and… hehehehehe… _stuff _happens…"

Butt-head took the torch and hit Beavis with it. "That's that show The Breeder Bunch, dillwad! What's scary about _that?_"

"It's, like, living in the same house as three hot chicks and you can't, like, _do it _with them, because they're, like, your sisters," explained Beavis.

"Oh yeah," said Butt-Head, worried. "That _is _scary."

That was it. It was time for the big guns.

"I've got a scary story," said Daria.

"Oh my god, I just realised something needs fixing at the other end of the house!" said Jake, halfway out of the lounge before he'd finished speaking.

"It was on a Halloween night, much like this one. A number of cool rebels had gathered to party and challenge the Man's alcohol age limit and noise pollution laws." Daria shone a torch under her face, illuminating the skull make-up. "And that was their mistake. Because by all gathering in one place, the rebels had meant _the Man could finish them all in one fell swoop-_"

"BARRICADE THE DOOR!" bellowed Quinn. "GO GO GO!"

"They tried to barricade the door but it wouldn't work-"

"OH SHIT!"

"-because what they didn't know was that the Man had already infiltrated the house."

Suspicious silence fell (broken by a "huh huh she said 'in' and then she said 'Phil'" "hehehehehe in Phil'").

"There was no sign. The disguise was perfect. He could have been anywhere – any_one_. They had no idea where, or when, he'd strike. They just had to sit, and wait, and fret, for the moment when-" Daria locked eyes on Butt-head. "They'd be _gassed_."

"Huhuhuhuh. Gas. Hey, Beavis, pull my finger."

"THEY'RE ATTACKING NOW!" screamed Quinn. "GET THEM!"

_Best Halloween ever,_ thought Daria as the party descended into violence chaos. _Well, mildly serviceable anyway._

* * *

Now:

It had been almost two years but Highland still looked the same, and that was a source of great sadness for Daria. Worse, she knew, it would still _smell _the same, especially around the back of Burger World.

"Now I know it's not easy for you girls, going back to an old town," said her father. "Especially not for you, Daria, right?"

"Snake, dear, we only have to do that speech when we're moving somewhere new."

"Better safe than sorry, Hellion, that's what I always say!" Jake frowned, realising that wasn't very punk at all. "Er, I mean, that's what I _rarely_ say! Because I'm a _rebel! _I don't care if I live or DIE!" Frown, wibble. "Hellion, did I take my pills this-"

"_Yes_, Snake."

The whole car ride to Highland had been like this.

They'd stopped at a sleazy motel on the way. Filthy, pipes leaking, the outside seedy and slick with discarded condoms, the walls thin and the sound of sordid liaisons filling the night, and Daria's parents and sister in other rooms: she wished she was still there.

"Why _did_ we have to come back to Highland anyway?" groused Quinn. "Why couldn't the Abernathy's have had their anniversary party at the Zon? That's _far _more kickass than anything here!"

"They live in Highland," said Daria.

"So?"

"There's no sensible discussion that can be had if you respond like that. Well played, Quinn; I take my hat off to you."

Quinn stared at the empty space above Daria's head. "Mum, Dad! Daria's hallucinating!"

"_Damn it!_ I _knew _someone had been in my stash!"

* * *

As soon as they'd arrived at yet another sleazy motel and unpacked, Daria headed off – she could meet up with the family later at night, when the Abernathy's' silver anniversary party kicked off. Or, alternatively, she could get 'lost' on her way to the club. (She was leaning towards the latter)

This area of town was rough, but that was true of half the town. And the other half was just boring. The rough parts always had the more interesting idiots anyway. Lawndale was better than Highland in that respect, it was almost all boring area and _still_ full of interesting idiots. This was one of three reasons she didn't miss Highland, the other two being "because Highland is shit" and "because Highland is _really _shit".

That said, being back here after so long, after having no contact with any of the people she'd known for the first fifteen years of her life, seeing the old Maxi Mart and the familiar gang tags, she felt something. Something that ached. It was the desire to find something and laugh at it.

"Hey. Bitch."

And lo and behold, the world had given her Todd Ianuzzi, King Shit of the Turd Mountain that was Highland's criminal underworld.

"Give me your-"

"If you don't say please, you won't get anything in life," said Daria, walking on and not bothering to look.

"You stupid cunt, don't you understand what's-"

Daria turned round and looked at him, letting him see her face. "You still owe my mother three hundred dollars in legal fees."

Todd turned pale and, with great care, put his switchblade away.

_So you can go home again, it's just you don't really want to._

* * *

Lawndale was quiet now, dry and lifeless. On the Morgendorffer house, a black flag drooped forlornly from its post, as if weeping over the rusting, abandoned line of beer cans. At the high school, ten of the Maleficent Eleven just stared ahead in class, eyes blank and mouths drooling; Spanish, IT, Science, even Maths and Geography went undisrupted and unstopped. Across the town, non-vandalised posters for a football game marked the buildings like neon wounds.

Jane was fucking bored. _Years_with no real friends outside of Tom, and yet now she couldn't stand the absence of Daria; even if Tom had still been at Lawndale and they could've snarked through class, she'd have found herself pausing for Daria's contributions.

(That would still be better than what actually happened, which was her being sarcastic _to thin air_. Ms Onepu had taken Jane to the nurse, giving her terrified warnings about how if she was "feeling… ill", they'd be able to help her and it'd all be alright)

Add in the social ostracisation and constant background hatred that she'd been facing for a year now, and subtract any amusing incidents and arson attacks, and she'd actually had to _study_. Even now, at home, she found herself _thinking _of doing homework.

The door rang. Trent woke up from his place at the kitchen table, a forgotten bowl of Cheerios dead in their milk.

"Someone's at the door, Janey."

"It's probably someone unbelievable boring," said Jane.

Trent opened the door and looked at Amy Barksdale.

"_Whoa_. You look different without your jacket, Daria."

"Daria? I thought you were out until _mblblbbl hi_"

"Hi Jane," said Amy. "I know this is last minute, but I need an extra cameraman as soon as humanly possible to go out into dark, forbidding woods where local crims dump corpses so I can look for ravenously violent Bigfoots and film them. Of all the times for a guy to find Jesus… Anyway, I was going to ask Daria to help out but the house is quiet, so I figure everyone's outta town. I called her up and she said you've got experience with a camera and that, quote, I can't leave her on her own in Lawndale, I just can't, that would be inhumane, please take her somewhere interesting unquote."

Jane realised that her biggest TV idol was asking her to hang out with her and do crazy, famous, TV-appearing stuff. Many emotions ran through her, and she expressed them with an eloquent "_mblmblbmblb get my stuff_".

Amy waited patiently as the girl fled. Trent stared at her, suspicious.

"You're not Daria," he said, slowly.

Jane came back, an overnight bag packed implausibly fast. "_mblbmblmbl thanks_"

"Excellent! Daria asked if I could do something for Tom but, eh, he seemed… busy."

(_"NO MERCY!"_ screamed Tom; _"NONE GIVEN!"_thundered Pat, and the Halo deathmatch began again)

"So is it really so boring here that Daria would rather I took you to be almost killed and eaten?"

Jane forced herself to regain the power of human speech. "Pretty boring," she gritted out.

"Ah, you'll feel sorry if something cool happens and you missed it."

A tumbleweed blew through Dega Street.

* * *

She remembered these old streets. She'd walked them every third day to go to the library. She'd had an adult library card and everything. And there was that time with the walkathon. And the time she'd gone to the Thanksgiving parade as a pilgrim because she'd lost a bet with Quinn.

And then, oh dear Lord in heaven, there was the muddy backlot where… where…

_Daria passed by and saw Beavis and Butt-head mud wrestling in bikinis. She shut her eyes and still saw it._

_Slowly, with great care, she took out her phone, started recording, and sent it to Quinn._

_Five seconds later: RIIIING. "EWWWWWW!"_

And up there, wasn't that the spot where the car had broken down and the idiots had tried to change their tyre so her mother would, ahem, score with them? (How long was Beavis in hospital that time?) And there was a dog turd on the sidewalk, which made her think of them too.

She wondered how Beavis and Butt-head were getting on, though not much. And then everyone else in school, except for Stewart of course. She wondered about Earl, and Martin, and Dean, and Kimberly she thought her name was, and…

Er…

Ah…

Daria paused. "Hmm. I think I feel a philosophical epiphany coming on. I hope Jane's having a more fun time."

* * *

The traffic was backed up for at least two miles and the honking filled eternity.

"I don't know about you, but I can't help but think if I leave the car to pee before anyone else does, I _lose_," said Amy.

_Well I do NOW_, thought Jane.

* * *

There was someone down there, someone… well, sniffing glue, oh dear, but she was _pretty _sure they'd been in her Spanish class. What was their name? Jamie? No, that wasn't it, that was someone else. Hurm.

Cautiously, she slowed down so they'd see her. They didn't notice.

"Hey."

"Grunt."

Oh.

Well, she couldn't remember him talking to her back in ninth grade either, so this shouldn't be too big a deal, but she'd always sort of thought that even though she barely noticed anyone, they had an idea who _she_ was. Even if it was the weird chick. She got quite a few disparaging looks and insults and notes stuck to her back, so people _had _noticed her.

"Hey!" the familiar stranger said. "Don't I know you? Oh, hey, Cassandra. Ugly jacket, girl."

_I wish I was with Jane._

* * *

_"You're listening to TP40, the station that brings you the hippest, best-selling tracks of this week!"_

"The radio's broken, I can't change the channel!" screamed Amy. "Dear Lord, I can't change the channel!"

* * *

She'd prided herself on walking alone, ignoring the herd, and not caring to look back, and while she knew that meant she'd have no real ties to the old hometown, she'd never expected to _want _any. Returning to Highland for a bit was a sobering experience. It was only when Daria could see it and remember that she realised how little ties she had to the place, how few people would have been bothered she'd left.

Her first fifteen years of life almost didn't exist, like everything had been scrubbed and forgotten as soon as she'd moved to Lawndale. Wasn't that a bad thing?

"I spend just two days without Tom and Jane, and I go all maudlin," she said to herself. "And I start talking to myself too. That could be a problem. There's only room for five Stacy's."

She kept walking. The houses around her looked the same as she remembered; maybe the colours had been cleaned up and improved, a bit of gloss to cover the grubbiness. Maybe that's why she was feeling like that. If Highland looked different, if some of the buildings had been replaced, if the long-promised renovations had finally happened, then she could ignore the place as irrelevant to her modern life. But like this, it reminded her of old times and that was sucking her in.

"I am going to feel like this for weeks unless I take action. And I think I know what that action needs to be."

* * *

Todd had been on edge since that Daria bitch had turned up. He'd tried to smack up to calm himself but it wasn't working – images of Hellion Wheels turned the high bad. He thought he'd gotten away with it when she'd moved. He thought that was it, she wouldn't remember the legal fees.

Why was she coming back for him _now? _Was it a rep thing? No, couldn't be: how'd people in Maryland know about it? Just straight up revenge?

He needed to get out of town. She wouldn't find him if he was out of town.

And that's how he drove past Helen and Jake.

"Hey isn't that _THAT FUCKER OWES ME THREE HUNDRED CHASE HIM!_"

* * *

"Remember that time that kid at school died?"

"Ohhh yeah, yeah!" Beavis attempted to remember something. "Who was that?"

Butt-head devoted all mental power to this issue. "Uhhhhhh…." In his head, something fluttered and then fell, like a dying pigeon. "Hmmm."

"Was it Stewart?"

"No. Stewart's still alive. We saw him _yesterday_."

"Uhh, we did? Heheh. I usually don't notice." Beavis scratched his butt thoughtfully. "I know Daria killed herself, I remember that! Heheheh."

"Uh, she didn't kill herself, she just moved away."

"Ohhhh!"

The doorbell rang. Beavis went up to open the door after it rang a fourth time, helped by an admonishment to answer the door or continue to be a fartknocker. The lad opened the door and saw Daria.

"AAAAAA! _Butt-head, Daria's back from the grave!_"

"Huhuhuhuh. You dumbass. That's not Daria's ghost, that's… uhhh… some girl that just looks like her, and stuff…" Deep within, a brain cell clicked. "_Whoa! _That girl looks like Daria! And so did Daria! Huhuh."

"Hi guys." Daria put her hands in her pocket to avoid unhygienic contact. "It's been a long time."

"Huhuhuh. Long." A crafty expression came on Butt-head's face. "Hey, Daria. Because you've been away, Beavis has been _crying_-"

"I've not been crying, _buttmunch!_"

"I believe you, Beavis."

"Huh huh. She wants you, dude."

"Ohhh! Errr, heheh, um…" Conflicting emotions rolled around Beavis' eyes. "Uh, no offence, Daria, but, ummm… We gotta have, uhhhh, standards and practices, right? Heheh. No offence, um." Pause. "Say, didn't you, like, move? So why are you, like, not somewhere else?"

"You know how people like to meet people they know, so they can fondly remember their childhood days? It's like that, except I hope to kill any interest I ever had in these days, ever."

The two lads stared at her, brains blank and mouths opened.

_Ah, I feel like being generous._ "Hey, guys. I send _fondly_. Like _fondle_."

"Huhhhhh… Oh yeah." Butt-head started to laugh. "That was _cool!_"

"Hey, hey, Butt-head, Jersey Shore's back on! Maybe we'll see some _boobs _this time!"

_I see two big ones right now_, thought Daria, but felt it would be too distracting to say out loud. "What the hell. As long as I can be sarcastic."

"Uhhh, not really. But we're gonna call everyone in it a dumbass, you can, like, watch and stuff."

* * *

Todd was maxing over 100mph and the Morgendorffers had fallen behind, but they could still track him. He had to get out. He _had _to.

He had to take a risk. Like…

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a freight train coming down tracks.

He jumped that and made it, he'd be free. He _would. _No way they'd follow.

He accelerated…

A few miles back, the Morgendorffers were turning round: "damn it, I don't know where he'll be going, let's just go back and we'll play it by ear if we see him," said Helen.

"Yeah, we don't want to be 'bread heads' or nothing," laughed Jake. "Let's go _OH MY GOD LOOK BEHIND US I THINK A TRAIN DERAILED WHAT'S THAT WEIRD GREEN SMOKE COMING OUT?_"

* * *

"Whoa! They arrested Snooki?"

"She was peeing in the gene pool," said Daria.

There was a long silence, before Butt-head chuckled "she sounds like that kid that went to the dentist on Youtube."

Daria sat, waiting – and then Whatsername on the show said Thingy had been arrested for _"being drunk and being an idiot!"_, and Beavis asked if you could be arrested for being an idiot. Now was her chance.

"Don't worry, I won't snitch on you guys."

"Uhhhh, this isn't quite working out, Daria," said Butt-head apologetically.

"Yeah, heheh, you just, errrr, don't quite get the, um, the nuances and the… er…"

"Penises," experimented Daria.

"Huh huh huh huh huh huh"/"Heh heh heh heh heh"

_I miss Jane. _"I'm going to the bathroom."

Soon after she left, a News 7 special report about a major disaster cut into the TV.

"Damn it, Beavis, change it back!"

"I didn't do this!" protested Beavis, worried at the back of his mind that there must be some guy with a hook for a hand phoning from inside the house like in that thing.

"_The situation here is positively apocalyptic! A freight train has derailed, causing a potentially TOXIC gas leak!"_ ("Huh huh huh") "_As a precaution, a twenty-block radius of North Highland is currently being evacuated!_"

* * *

Sirens and trucks and men pounding on doors filled the house, but sadly Beavis and Butt-head were unable to make the phenomenal mental leap between this and the events happening on the magic picture thing. Daria could have intervened but she was in Butt-head's bathroom, and that occupied all of her senses. Especially her smell.

"My god," she said, looking at the toilet. "It's full of stars."

There was no toilet paper. This explained much.

One look at the seat and it was decided: "If boys can pee standing up, it can't be that difficult. Jane will never believe this…"

* * *

Jane and Amy walked as one into the truck stop bathroom, and as one they walked right back out and over to the nearest tall patch of grass.

* * *

Daria came down to the fading sound of sirens (_I wonder how Earl is doing these days?_) and Beavis asking "What does apopalicktic mean?".

"Uhhh, I think it means, like, when it's the end of the world? Like in that movie?"

"Oh. So that means it's the apocaclipse now."

"I'm curious, what movie do you mean?" asked Daria.

"Uhhhh… hmmm. That one with all those really cool explosions and, like, stuff getting broken? But not that other one with the cool explosions."

Daria was going to write this conversation off – it wouldn't be the first time – until Beavis said they should go check the apocalypse out. And that confused her. It was entirely possible they had seen part of a film and had confused it with the news (the police had to be called in after they'd seen Red Dawn), but if there was a movie on, why did they want to go _outside_? Wouldn't the fresh air make them sick?

She tagged along as Beavis and Butt-head left the house (but not the smell of the house, which was far greater in size) and noticed that Highland was quiet. Too quiet. The quiet you get from a place being abandoned, or at a parent-teacher night when Ms Onepu tried to think of something positive to say about Quinn.

"Uhhh, where is everybody?"

Butt-head thought hard (okay, soft). "Oh yeah, I think part of the end of the world is that everybody's dead?" He considered the death of everyone he'd ever known. "Huh huh."

"Hehheheh… ummm… are _we_dead?"

"I'd never be so lucky," said Daria.

Beavis stared at her. "Uh, heheh, are we sure Daria isn't de-"

"Okay. As the man who was fed up said to the other man, I'm fed up. What happened when I was in the bathroom-" She waited for the laughing to stop ("she had to _pee_"). "What, precisely, happened?"

"Huh, uh, this news guy came on, and, huhuhuh, he said everyone was gonna die because someone had made a really bad _fart_. Huhuhuhuhuhuh!"

"Butt-head, that can't be true. For one thing, only two people in this state can fart that badly and I'd have been at ground zero."

"Hey, Daria, you're smart," said Beavis. "If everybody's dead and we're not, ehehehe, what are we supposed to _do? _Uhh, heh. Because the end of the world looks boring right now."

"Dumbass!" said Butt-head. "If everybody's dead and we're not, we can _do anything! _Nobody can tell us what not to do!"

"I can," said Daria.

"Damn it, Daria, you're starting to piss me off."

"I just said I can, I didn't say I will," said Daria. "But I draw the line at repopulating the Earth."

"Uhhh, don't be stupid, we need _chicks _for that."

_Oh screw it._"Hey, you know what would be cool? Going to the Maxi Mart and drinking all the really cold slurpies in one go. With big scoops of ice cream."

"WHOA!"

* * *

With North Highland cordoned off and Daria at the wrong end of that cordon, her parents needed to be calm and rational. So it was a pity that Jake and Helen were, quite literally, trying to headbutt their way through the police barricades.

"It ain't budging, Hellion!"

Animal intelligence flared in her mind. "Let's _jump over _the barriers instead!"

They did.

"Awww, they haven't changed a bit," said one officer fondly.

* * *

Beavis and Butt-head screamed in unfathomable pain as the ice-cream headaches struck them down. Daria smiled, her job complete.

"I can never get away with this sort of thing at Lawndale," she told them.

"huh huh thiIIIINGAAAUUUUU"

Calmly, she drank a spare slurpie in front of them, making sure to bend down near their ears when it reached the death-rattle point of only a mere drop in the bottom.

"And now that's out of the way, if I have this right: the town has been evacuated because of a gas leak."

"Hehehehe gas"

"Huhuhuh leak"

"Thank you. And you've decided to remain in a potential toxic hazard and pig out on stolen food because you don't understand what's happened." She sighed. "I see. So, dare I ask what you intend to do next?"

"It's the end of the world, so, like, I can do anything…" Beavis' eyes lit up. "So I'm gonna use _every toilet in town! _I may not even flush! Heheheheh!"

"You flushed before?" she said, surprised. "Anyway, what then?"

"We're gonna read all the porn because nobody can tell us we're too young," said Butt-head proudly.

"And then?"

"Uhhhh…" Beavis' mind jumped into first gear. "Go home?"

"Dillhole, it's the end of the world, we can stay any home we want!" Butt-head considered who he knew the names of. "Let's go live at Stewart's house."

Daria's conscience made a feeble kick. "No." Needing an excuse: "You should stay at a cooler house."

"Hey! _Our_house is pretty cool!" said Butt-head, forgetting what he'd said just three seconds before. "And then we wouldn't have to, y'know, move all our stuff."

Daria felt like headbutting God for this. _I hope Jane is doing better._

* * *

The woods are, like most woods, severely lacking in safe shelter from a huge fucking rainstorm that kicked in, complete with howling winds, _just _as you were too far from the car to run back.

"Your job is losing some of its glory and mystique," Jane told Amy.

"Oh, _now _you speak up. Pbbt, this is nothing. You should've been at Port Niranda in Australia with those seagull flocks getting irritable bowel syndrome all at the same time…"

"Oh yeah, you won an award for that 'looking up' shot."

"It's a shit business."

* * *

Beavis and Butt-head were halfway to their house when they saw another house with an open door and decided to go there instead. As Butt-head put it, if the door was open, they wouldn't have to _do _anything to go in.

"Anyway, they'll all be dead, so they can't tell us off if we, uhhh… I dunno."

"Heheheheh not even flush."

"This is the limits of your imagination in the face of limitless options, is it?" asked Daria.

"No," said Butt-head. "This is a house."

"Heheheh, dumbass."

"If the apocalypse really happened, you would really do this. There's only thing sadder than this and that's that I'm following you willingly. _Again!_"

"Huhuh, Daria wants us."

"That's it," said Daria, walking away. "I'm going to the one place I know you won't be. The school."

"Ohhh yeah, eheh, I knew I forgot something this week…"

After Daria left, Helen and Jake zoomed post on a "borrowed" motorbike ("WE'RE COMING DARIA!"). Beavis and Butt-head stared in shock.

"Oh yeah. After the apoca…acopa… uhhh, end of the world, people get to wear leather and have really cool cars and bikes and, huhuhuh, burn things and stuff…"

Deep within, a collection of brain cells struggled to make an A-to-B connection.

* * *

At the makeshift camp, Quinn stood in a sulk next to the police, while Mr Van Driessen said: "Now Quinn, I know we're all frustrated and that we'd like to take our anger out, but the policemen are just doing their jobs. It's really not nice to compare them to the Third Reich, mmm'kay?"

"m' sorry," she muttered, scowling at the ground.

"That's better. Doesn't it feel good to improve your karma?"

"No."

* * *

Highland High looked mostly the same, but they'd changed the flag and sign. They looked better now, but in a way that made the flag look fake. Apart from that, same old dull concrete, same old graffiti, same old broken window where someone had made Earl sit detention when his favourite TV show was on.

"Daria? Daria Morgandorpler?"

The speaker was someone she remembered but couldn't quite name, so it was handy when the figure identified herself as Cassandra. Lanky she was, with willowy hair and small glasses. Daria vaguely remembered that she liked art.

"Oh. Hi. There's a gas leak up north, best not go very far."

"I know," said Cassandra. "I thought I'd take a photo of it, to document the solitude and melancholy of an abandoned landscape."

Daria waited for the punchline, which never came. _Been around Jane too long_. "Speaking of melancholy, I was spending time near Beavis and Butt-head."

"They are such tragic souls," agreed Cassandra. "How are enjoying the trip home?"

"Well, it's funny: I started to feel bothered that I had no ties to this place, no real fond memories I cared about or _people_ I cared about. I felt I had missed something. But Beavis and Butt-head, god bless them, helped put that all in perspective. They reminded me that I didn't _like_ this place and the people in it – present company excluded, maybe – and I shouldn't feel bad about being _selective_. You don't have to keep baggage if you don't want, and I don't want to feel beholden to this place when I've come into my own elsewhere."

"Oh," said Cassandra. "I do apologise, I didn't catch any of that. I was worried about that glow over there, is that a fire?"

"Beavis is back there," said Daria, the only answer she needed. "I think I'll keep going south. Uh, has Earl got out of juvie hall yet?"

"He went back in," said Cassandra. "He's out next week. If you found Mr Van Driessen, I think he'd let you sign Earl's 'welcome back' card."

"Nah, I don't care that much."

* * *

"YEAH FFFFIREEEEE!" masturbated Beavis. "heheheheheh! So, um, now we've set the ground floor of Stewart's house on fire, should we do the first floor?"

"Course, dumbass!"

* * *

When the first propane tank exploded, Helen and Jake u-turned on the bike and sped towards the fires. So great was their desire to find their daughter and make sure she was safe, they drove right past her when she was walking in broad daylight.

Daria started to count. She'd made it to eight before the bike stopped and came back towards her.

* * *

Jane and Amy crouched behind trees, the camera trained on the gathering of Bigfoots. Who then started to talk and hand packages of drugs over.

"Oh god damn it, it's just criminals in suits again," said Amy in disgust. "Fourth time this year! What a waste of time."

"What if we just edit the film to cut that bit?" asked Jane.

"…Jane, you just saved this month's paycheque. I'm glad Daria recommended you."

She blushed. _I hope you're having a good time for this, amiga._

* * *

"ONE MORE TIME!" roared Jake. "NINETY NINE BOTTLES SMASHED ON A GUY'S HEAD-"

**"NINETY NINE BOTTLES OF BEER!"**answered the club of punks.

"This is no fun," grated Daria but nobody heard her.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Lawndale:

"Bro, remember Daria whistled the blow or whatever on that grade-cheating and Oakwood's running-back was suspended?" a battered Joey asked Mack. "I think they're still pissed about it."

"Jumped by 'mysterious hooded strangers', right?" Mack growled. "Thanks, Daria. Well, you're the third so far and someone's been posting threatening messages on the Lions' Facebook page. They're getting out of hand. I think it's clear what we have to do."

And that's why the captain of the Oakwood Taproots was sent a video clip of every Lion mooning the camera and singing _"Oompa loompa dupity bo, why don't you try to come at me bro?"_.

* * *

"This game will be a major social event," Tori told Sandi and Ruby Montag, "and _that_ means we have a chance to finally show up Cindy. We each try to grab a player for a date that day, and then we work together – no, hear me out, Sandi – we work together to ensure wherever she goes, we're rubbing it in. We'll _get_her this time!"

Meanwhile, a football player was asking Cindy "hey, wanna go out after the game?" (he was the third one so far).

* * *

"I'm sorry, Janet, I know you had plans," said O'Neill apologetically, "but we desperately need someone from the faculty to be at the game to watch over things…"

* * *

Stacy looked at her five separate invites and events for the next day, and started to number crunch.

* * *

"With the police all at Lawndale High, the rest of the town will be vulnerable to our attack! And when the Google-Eyes vigilante comes to save it, even she will be no match for the Gentlemen Thug, Drive-By-Night, and the Masked Mugger working together! _Ahahahaha!_"

* * *

"I wonder if I have enough beer for tomorrow?" asked the sports bar owner.

* * *

On the Sunday evening, the Morgendorffers' arrival home was interrupted by a State Police detour. In the distance, smoke could be seen rising above the town; helicopters were thundering overhead in formation; the radio was saying something about Guard Commander Hinz and State Police Superintendent Rawles arriving in town for emergency coordination and a meeting with the mayor.

"Awww, we go away for a few days and _then _something cool happens!" grumbled Quinn.

Daria stared at the distant chaos, mouth agape. _Maybe I am beholden, in some important way, to Highland, and I bring that everywhere I go. Even when I'm not here. Can I escape blame for this?_

She looked down at the leftover snacks from a lunch break. _Oh look. Hersheys._

Something exploded in town.

THE END

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Beavis and Butt-head's new episodes take place in the present day. This series is set in the present day. How could I _not_ do this?

Scenes and some dialogue have been lifted from (in order) the tenth issue of the B&B comic, episode Babes R Us, the Ghosts 'N Stuff commentary from Drones, Crying, a Jersey Shore 'review', and Doomsday. Incidents she remembers are also from B&B episodes and comics.

When Amy was at Port Niranda, she had to ask if you'd ever ever felt like this.

* * *

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME…**

Daria melted the face of the last Barbie, and announced to the class: "And _that _is what a single atom bomb would do if dropped on Highland County."

In the back, a student threw up.

"_Daria Morgendorffer!_" snapped Mrs Dickie. "That was… that was the _sickest_ science report I've ever had the misfortune to witness! _How _could you do such a thing?"

The punk smirked. "I read a book on it, bitch."

"DAN-DANNA-DAN-DANNA-DAN-DANANANA!" chanted Beavis and Butt-head at the back ("hehehehehe _ffffffire_").

"Well, you'll have to read another, young lady! Because you're doing another report and…" The teacher noticed the young delinquents and the idea for a particularly nasty punishment came to her. "…and you'll be doing it with Beavis and Butt-head. And it has to be a report on something… _nice_."

"Oh you are fucking with me."

"Whoa!" said Butt-head. "We get to work with _Dire Daria!_"

"Hehehe! You think Daria could, y'know, beat up Pantera?"

"Uhhhh… maybe. Huhuhuh."

* * *

"Alright," growled Daria. "Have you two developed the ability to fucking _think_?"

Beavis and Butt-head paused to consider this. If thought bubbles existed like in comics, theirs would be blank grey and making the sound of a stalling engine.

"Ask a dumbass question. Just give me some ideas."

"Heheheh, hey Daria, I bet if you set another car on fffffire, a lot of scientific stuff would happen!" said Beavis, hopefully.

"You could, huhuhuh, headbutt someone to, like, report on fizzies or something?"

"If we dye our hair too, can we be in your gang? Hehehehe-"

"That'd be _cool! _Huhuhuhuh!"

"I think we need to establish some ground rules." Daria headbutted them both. "One, shut the fuck up unless I tell you to speak."

_Daria's cool_, thought Butt-head.

"Second, stay on topic or…" A thought came to her. "Hmmm. I think I have an idea for a 'nice' project…"

* * *

Butt-head stared at the words, which read 'Smash the Fascist State'. "Uhhhh… sm-smass-ach the… faaa-skist-"

"This show sucks, Daria! Change it! Heheeh."

"And that," Daria told the class, "seems to be that. But watch what happens when we try positive reinforcement." She took out a bag of pure sugar and held it in front of Beavis. "What does that sentence say, Beavis?"

His eyes burned with concentration and he began to sweat like a dying man in a desert. "Sm-sm-sm-smaaaaaaaaaa…"

"COME ON!"

"Smaaaasshhhh the…. The…" terror. "Aahhhh! I'm not gonna make it!"

"COME ON BEAVIS, SUGAR!"

"F-F-F-" He summoned every scrap of willpower. "faaaaasssshiiiistt staaaaattteeeee!" He collapsed, utterly spent.

"Huhuhuh. Dumbass."

"Good work, Beavis. Have some sugar. Anyway, that seems to answer the question: does positive reinforcement have a beneficial impact on- oh what the fuck is this, why is he pulling his shirt over his he-"


	39. Epic F Word

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**  
**Episode 39: Epic F Word**

"I will wake up refreshed and ready to meet life's challenges. I will wake up refreshed and ready to meet life's challenges."

Even O'Neill's reflection didn't believe him.

"_eeeeeeeheheh"_

* * *

The Maryland Teachers Convention had finally come upon them, the first one since the perfect shitstorm. All the teachers from Lawndale High gathered together in a phalanx, united for mutual protection: their hardest members at the outside and O'Neill providing the soft centre.

"Your disCRETION, Thomas," growled DeMartino, covering the rear.

Coach Sherman scanned the hotel hall with all the training of his Army days. "Two potential hostiles. Not likely to make a move without backup though. Take the right path."

A teacher sniggered as they passed, only to stop as DeMartino glared at them. And he could glare for his country.

"Coast is clear, coast is clear, coast-"

The lobby lifts pinged and began to open.

"_Incoming!_ Move, move-"

A wave of Garrett County teachers poured out of the lift and stared.

"Sorry, we can't let you in! The insurance would _never _cover you guys!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure they'll give you a bye!"

"Wait, wasn't this a convention for _teachers?_"

Ms Defoe tried to leave but Barch pushed her back into place. "We don't give them the _satisfaction_."

"What's the first seminar?" asked Ms Onepu.

"Uh…" Mrs Bennett checked the brochure. Then checked it again. "Failure Equals Growth _I'm not shitting you that's what it says here!_"

O'Neill started to cry. Well, louder.

* * *

"So why then are we constantly urging our students to win at all costs? We should be teaching them that failure is not the end of the world. In fact it's often a stepping stone to success."

"Hey, things are looking up for you!" hissed someone behind the Lawndale crowd.

"Ignore them," growled Barch, teeth gritted so hard they were in danger of eroding themselves.

"After his first attempts at flight failed, Wilbur Wright said that "not within a thousand years would man ever fly.""

"Did he say bye?"

"_eeeeehehehehe"_

"_Ignore_ them."

"We've got forty minutes to go," said Defoe, voice bleached of any hope or dreams.

"It took Thomas Edison more than two thousand experiments before he invented the light bulb. Failure is the signpost that points the way to success!"

A spitball landed on Barch.

"Oh screw it."

Screaming, she leapt over her seat and began pummelling the guilty party; the whole hall erupted in cheers and catcalls and cries to "FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!". Finally, Steve – moonlighting a second job under the cunning alias of "Steve" - pushed his way through and held them apart.

"Stop it! _Stop it! _Janet, you're leaving the room and going straight to the organiser's office!"

"But he started it!"

"I don't care _who _started it! Go!" He turned round and glared at the battered teacher. "And I've got my eye on you, understood?"

"I didn't do nothin'!"

"Don't make me hold you back after the seminar, young man!"

* * *

Over dinner, Onepu gently suggested: "I think that could have gone better."

"It went great! I waited in the hallway until he'd left the room and then jumped him," said Barch proudly. "Baltimore County punks ain't shit!"

"We have to face facts," said Coach Nikahd. "He was only saying what everyone was thinking – actually, a lot of people are saying what everyone is thinking."

As if by narrative convenience, a Brunswick teacher walked past and called out "More like Lawn_gay_ High! Haw haw!".

"See?" said Sherman. "Hell, Tommy Sherman's only eating with you all because nobody will let him onto the cool teacher's table."

"And when I CHECKED on our PRINCIPAL, he was lying in BED – WITH his clothes ON and AWAKE. That's THREE HOURS now!"

Silence settled on them, heavy with things unsaid. Nikahd was the first one to break the silence, saying what they were all thinking:

"The school's dead, isn't it? It's still twitching but this is _it_. We're going to be allowed to become the crap school, and only that because it's too much of a pain to move all the students."

"We can't give up," said Onepu.

"We CAN," said DeMartino.

The teachers agreed they could.

"No!" Onepu stood up, rare steel in her voice and in her eyes. "I refuse to… to _abandon_ our students like this, to let their school decay around them! There has to be something we can do! We're not beaten yet!"

A minute later, a policeman came along and told them that Timothy O'Neill had tried to commit suicide by jumping out the hotel window. As he was on the ground floor, this hadn't quite worked like he'd hoped.

_I WIN this argument_, thought DeMartino.

* * *

Bennett came back to the hospital lobby and shook her head. "Timothy is refusing to see anyone. It's worse than we thought."

"What do we do?" asked Mr Ayoade.

"Buy him some grapes, I guess," said Sherman.

"No. I mean what do we do about- I know it's insensitive, but our principal's in the hospital and last I checked, the vice-principal is still 'pending' so we don't have to pay an extra salary._ Someone _has to fill in until Superintendent Pascal makes a decision, right?"

"That's not funny, man," said Sherman. "Don't joke about things like that."

Bennett took a deep breath. "Someone will have to draw the short straw on this, alright? And we have to decide fast if we want to keep Pascal from running roughshod over us. We need someone who can stand up to him."

Pause.

"WHY are you looking AT ME?"

"It's just a temporary thing, Anthony-"

"That's what they said about THE FIRST WORLD WAR!"

"We still have the same problem, the school's in the toilet and everyone knows it," said Barch. "Who cares who's at the top? How are they going to get us out of that?"

Ms Onepu coughed. "Um. Just a suggestion but… maybe we should approach the students on this? We could enlist _their_ help! Appeal to their pride in their school and their more altruistic natures!" She waited for the laughter to stop. "No, I'm being serious!"

"You SICKEN me."

* * *

Principal O'Neill's suicide attempt had reached the news and the whole school knew about it by Monday. And aside from Mohammed starting a betting pool on who'd be the new principal, not a fuck was given.

"You bet forty dollars on this?" Daria asked Jane, as they queued to enter. "I know the odds on DeMartino are good but-"

"I went outside his house on the weekend and heard him screaming angrily about something," said Jane. "And I know for a _fact_ there were no History essays to mark over the weekend."

"I am disgusted that I didn't think of that first."

The tannoy system squeaked into angry life: "ALRIGHT, YOU WORTHLESS FAILURES OF THE FERTILIZATION PROCESS! There's an ASSEMBLY for the whole school and you WILL pay attENtion, if that's even PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE!"

"Cheaters prosper, awww yeah."

* * *

The auditorium was packed and a sense of general disinterest filled the air.

"I hope they're not going to say something about O'Neill, that'd be a downer that'd last the whole day," said a worried Brittany.

"Nah babe, the assemblies are for important stuff."

A few seats away, Sandi peered suspiciously at an unfamiliar black man on the stage. "Who is that?"

"I recognise him, that's the superintendent," said Cindy.

"Uh, did I _ask_ you?"

"Noooo, but I assumed it was a general question for anyone-"

"If I want the answer, I'll ask for it, Cin-deeee!"

Stacy considered this. "I think you _did_ ask, Sandi."

"That's not _important_ right now!" She glared at her insubordinate subordinate. "You're helping the _enemy_, Stacy-"

"Wait, I'm your enemy?" Cindy sounded hurt. "We've barely talked, Sandi! What the _hell?_"

"Don't think your social dominican will last," said Sandi, her voice low and icy. "You don't _belong _among the popular. Soon the boys will realise that-"

"Jesus _Christ_, this isn't some high school soap opera! Who _thinks_ like that, really?"

Sandi thought hard for a response to this existential attack, and settled on: "Yeah, well… you look like a dork!"

"That's just fucking pathetic," growled Stacy. _Normal_ Stacy.

Up at the top, the Maleficent Eleven started to chant "WHHHYYYYY ARE WE WAAAAIIIIITING."

* * *

DeMartino grumped to the microphone, Superintendent Pascal trailing him like a particularly obnoxious shadow.

"I'm keeping my eye on you."

DeMartino turned round slowly, bulging his eye as far as it would go, and _grinned_. Then he turned back to the mike:

"**EVERYONE SHUT UP!"** _Ahhh, this job isn't all bad._ "As you are ALL aware, Principal O'NEILL has suffered a PSYCHOTIC BREAKDOWN caused by the PRESSURES your PUTRID, LAZY SELVES and the BUREAcratic SCUMBAGS have forced on him-"

"Salary reviews," growled Pascal.

"-leaving ME as the SACRIFICIAL LAMB for every GODdamn problem the DISTRICT wants to PRETEND ISN'T THEIRS!"

"Salary reviews," said Pascal, worried DeMartino hadn't heard him the first time.

"This CESSPIT we call a school is in DIRE straits and this latest FUCK-UP-"

("Whoa, Mr D swored!" said Quinn. "Are we sure he's the Man?")

"-only makes things WORSE! My colleague ONEpu thinks that we should APPEAL to your better natures on this." He paused. "This is as likely as the SuperinTENDENT actually giving us a BUDGET-"

"Salary reviews!" yelled Pascal.

"There has to be **a CHANCE OF A RAISE for that to work**, HERB HOOVER! Anyway, since I think appealing to you PROCESSED SAUSAGES is a waste of VALuable OXYGEN, I'm going to differ to Ms Onepu on this."

DeMartino stepped down - Daria and Jane have him a standing ovation – and Onepu went up.

"Umm. Hello." She cleared her throat. "Now we all know that times have been hard at this school. You have not been given the opportunities you should have been. But this is still your school and we don't intend to abandon you without a fight! But we'll need _your_ help to do this! We need _you_ to help rejuvenate and save your school!"

The students all stared back, slack-jawed and confused, like a dog being taught quantum physics.

"But school sucks, miss!" called out Shane.

There was a general rumbling of agreement.

Coach Sherman put a consoling hand on Onepu's shoulder. "Tommy Sherman will take it from here." He took the mike. "Tommy Sherman was at the Teachers Convention a few days ago, and you know what? Teachers from _another_ county thought you were all _losers!_"

The students stared back, like a dog being taught that it couldn't chase cats.

"I met some people from _Baltimore_ and _they_ thought you were losers!"

Angry murmurs broke out, like a dog being taught about neutering and developing the power of speech in order to protest.

"Yeah, that's what Tommy Sherman thought too! And you know who _else_ thinks this school is for losers?" He made a strategic pause. **"Oakwood."**

Kevin let to his feet. "_We're not losers! THEY'RE THE LOSERS! LET ME AT 'EM LET ME AT 'EM_" and then he tripped over his own feet.

"That's what I want to hear! Everywhere we go now, people are dissin' us! We gonna _take_ that? You think _any_ of us here should be considered losers?"

Tori Jericho raised her hand. "Um, what about the people are losers, like the chess club and… y'know, Dyke Morgaydorffer."

Sherman used to be a high-school quarterback and had expected this. "_Our_ losers are as good as _Oakwood's_ cheerleader reserves! If Daria went to Oakwood, she'd have _done cheers by now!_"

The auditorium roared out their bloodlust. ("You missed your calling," said Jane.)

"So you know something? This whole damn school is gonna show those other schools they can _suck it_! I wanna see _everyone_ doing something cool and rubbing it into those Oakwood _jerks!_ **USA! USA! USA!**"

"**USA! USA! USA!"**

On the stage, Nikahd had broken into tears. "It's… it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard…"

* * *

The students stormed out, high-fiving each other and plotting their actions:

"I'm gonna totally win the next game, only, like, winnier!" declared Kevin.

"We'll show those out-of-season trend-followers what real fashion looks like!" declared Sandi.

"I'm gonna go find someone from Oakwood and say I had their mother!" said Joey, and the whole football team cheered.

Daria poked Quinn in the shoulder, ducked the retaliatory strike, and said: "I think you should explain we're not losers by spraying it in big letters across the other schools."

"That is an _awesome_ idea, Daria! _Come on guys!_"

"So that's how you plan to be petty and dig at the edges of this plan?" Jane asked Daria.

"No, I just thought it'd be really funny. I'll think of something petty over lunch."

* * *

"If you _ever_," hissed Pascal, no humour or mercy in his eyes, "talk to or about me like that in front of others again, I'll-"

"You'll WHAT?"

That actually threw him. "O'Neill understood my threats."

"Yes, well, O'NEILL gave a FUCK." DeMartino turned his left trouser pocket inside out, then his right, and gave a sad shrug. "Oh DEAR. It seems I HAVE none on me!"

"Do you even _want _this jo- Oh."

"HA! Keep OR replace me as Principal, I STILL win!" DeMartino began to air-guitar. "BREAKING the LAW! BREAKING the **LAW!**"

* * *

The new school spirit was made clear when, in Language Arts, Ms Onepu asked "so what are the themes in The Chocolate War" and _Kevin raised his hand to answer._

"Manfist destiny and the need to prevent the Vietcommies stealing dominos, miss!"

"I think you're thinking of something else."

"You did your best, Kevin!" called out a guy in the back.

"He's right," said Daria.

* * *

The Maleficent Eleven hit Lawrenceville High commando-style, pouring out of the hired taxis ("you owe me money!") and charging across the grounds.

"Go go go! Andrea, Dave, you're on that pointy thing at the front! Koichi, Spike, watch our shanks! Shaggy, Angel, start spraying! _Shane why aren't you tipping that bin over IT'S A BIN DAMN IT!_"

"Killer, it's the pigs!" called out Scarlett, seeing the school guards slothing towards them.

"Shit! Back fall, back fall!" She took a look at the tag they'd left, winced, and ran over to add an exclamation mark so it'd look like they'd _meant _to leave an unfinished tag. "Okay, job done, GO GO!"

Behind them, sprayed across the wall, was "YOU SUCK LAWN!". The guards slowed-more-down to study it.

"Now that's just inappropriate."

* * *

At lunchtime, the school grounds were a council of war for the entire football team and cheerleading squad. Every player, even unto the worst substitutes and the towel boy, was engaging in full-contact counter-tackle practice.

"READY!" barked Mack, leading the line of potential tackle victims from the front. "TACKLERS… ATTACK RUN! TACKLEES… HOLD FAST!"

As one, the line roared **"COME AT ME, BRO!"** at the incoming hostiles and met their strike as a wall of steel, and _pushed back_ (except for the towel boy who'd gone down with three teeth missing).

The cheerleaders stood apart from all this, brainstorming their tactics: "We need the perfect song to show everyone we're not losers!" declared Brittany. "And I'm not sure We Like Sports is really working out."

Daria had been watching all this for _any_ opening and finally saw her chance: "well, if you want to embody the spirit of Coach Sherman's speech, you can't go wrong with Tomorrow Belongs To Me."

"Who let _you _here, Daria? You're too _unpopular_ to watch cheerleading!" Now she'd said that, Brittany was free to actually register what Daria had said. "Hmmm. That sounds like a nice song!"

"Oh yes, it's very heart-warming. People have saluted during it."

As the cheerleaders all started to think about this song, Daria walked over to Jane.

"Are you not at all worried that there might be a Hell?"

"Jane, for the past few years I've been worried I'd already gone there."

* * *

"We've tagged half of Eagleton's wall," said Shaggy, "so why are we still here?"

The bell rang for lunch and the students of Eagleton High started to come out.

"That's why," said Quinn. "HEY BITCHES WE'RE DISSING YOUR SCHOOL!"

The Eagleton students shrugged and went about their business.

"Oh." Quinn deflated. "That's just fucking weak-"

"_Killer!_ The honour students are coming this way and they're _pissed _and they have those things that are like books but with those weird not-soft cover things!"

"Ah, it's enough. CHARGE!"

* * *

Erin Chambers had been working at Buzzdome for months now, and she was enjoying it because it paid her to not be in the same house as Aunt Helen for eight hours a day. But every so often, something would come along and ruin things for her. Like that time she'd misunderstood the conversations entirely and started to talk about the 80s My Little Pony show. (Erin had had a dark night of the soul that day, unsure if she was really meant to work there)

This was less socially embarrassing but far, far ickier: she had to be in _contact_ with their client, the mysterious Pimpmaster Rutt of Ultrasuave Inc, the big, throbbing, seven-inch noise in internet porn.

"It's always a delight to talk to such a scintillating saleslady as yourself, Ms Chambers," said Rutt in his electronically distorted voice, modulated to sound low and seductive (and actually sounded like a particularly evil hippo). "So what is it you wish to, aha, flog to me now?"

She giggled (she had to, it was a sales tactic). "Oh you!" _Bleurgh._ "Pimpmaster Rutt, since we know about your SexEd charity festival, we thought you'd like to know about the latest streaming program we've created…"

Noah Barkman, her boss, was one of Ultrasuave's Gold Members and received the company's mailing list; he claimed this was solely for business reasons but even a blind man could see through that. Today, the list had gone out early with breaking news of the world's first charity porn-event: a pay-per-fap festival with all the Ultrasuave stars, with highest-bidder rights to decide what acts took place, and all of SexEd's proceedings to go to _Lawndale High_ of all things. Apparently, Rutt was feeling sentimental about the dump.

It was a filthy, disgusting thing to be involved in. But on the plus side, it gave her something work-related she could mention at dinner _and everyone else might listen to her this time._

* * *

Everyone listened to Erin. It wasn't quite going as she'd hoped. Even Daria, to her surprise, wasn't snarking this but instead looked slightly queasy. (On instinct, Erin's eyes flickered to Uncle Jake's cooking.)

"This whole SexEd thing is just wrong," said Helen. "I'm very disappointed. Something like this happens, I should have been their on-call lawyer, damn it!"

"I've consulted for porn before," said Jake, sounding hurt. "I can do it again! It's been years but I'm hip to the current jive! Did… did he think I was… Oh god, I'm not turning _square _am I?"

"There's probably a very good reason why Upch- Pimpmaster Rutt, and I use that name under protest, didn't hire you," said Daria.

"Our name should mean something, damn it!"

"I think our name did mean something to him."

"Why, I've gotta good mind to go _right to that thing _and do some _direct fucking marketing_ on him! YEAH!"

As Erin watched, Daria's face became blanker and less expressive than normal. She had to be thinking of something. _This_ blank expression was what Daria did when she considering something and didn't want it to be obvious to others. (Erin always won the family poker games)

"I think that would be a bad-" Daria stopped and thought for a bit. "No, it's still a bad idea but it's also going to be funny for me to watch, so I'd like you to do it. Which should tell you everything."

"Bitchin'! I'm doing it!" (Uncle Jake lost early in poker)

* * *

"And… march."

They came in a wave, fifteen of them, Lawndale's shallowest strutting down the mall in slow motion; decked out in the latest fashions, and _colour coordinated_. The blue and yellow of Lawndale High, but in more tasteful and refined hues than the actual blue and yellow of Lawndale High, was moving down the aisles and showing some leg.

Men turned slowly to watch them go; girls from rival schools gave them narrow-eyed glares; an unattractive fat guy looked at them but they pretended he wasn't doing so.

Sandi felt the savage thrill she hadn't felt since she'd out-fashioned Amy at her own birthday party. _This_ was why she'd founded the Fashion Club: showing off, being the leader of attractive girls in cool clothes, getting male attention (and wallets), totally outdoing someone else and rubbing it in. And it was for a good cause this time too!

Yes, nothing could ruin it now. _Nothing_.

The girls rounded a corner and saw Cindy on a date with Brett Strand.

"Sandi? Sandi, why are you leaving? Come back!" Angie sighed. "Ohhhhh… _bum_. Who's going to lead now?"

Fourteen pairs of eyes tried to keep a paranoid eye on all of the other thirteen at the same time.

"I need to go to the bathroom!" squeaked Stacy, falling back fast for the nearest changing room.

"I think," said Brooke slowly, "that you should lead, Angie, because you've had experience-" Deliberate pause – "of _watching_ leaders doing things…"

* * *

Erin answered the door. Several large, rather threatening kids in hoodies and urban thug gear were at the doorstep.

"You must be some of Quinn's friends. She's upstairs."

The three-man attack squad of the Dirty Decade had expected a harsh response when they went round to threaten Quinn – _nobody_ wrote that Oakwood "sux" on Oakwood's own walls – but they hadn't expected to be challenged to a home-turf fight. They scowled at the woman with their most menacing scowls, to show what they thought of such an obvious trap.

"Alright, alright, I know, I'm a 'square'." And then she got out of the doorway to let them in.

Now it was a direct challenge to their manhood. The Morgendorffers were cunning foes, indeed.

"Fuck it. Charge!"

They were halfway up the stairs when they heard the woman yell "Quinn, you've got friends!", and they increased their speed, knowing they'd only have one shot at catching Killer off guard-

Daria opened the upstairs bathroom door and frowned as something crashed into it. She opened her mouth to apologise, looked out and saw that three complete strangers had been knocked to the floor, and stopped caring.

Quinn came out, looked down at the strangers, then back at Daria. "Whoa! You _are_ from this family! Let's beat them up _together!_"

* * *

It turned out that emissaries for all the county's rival gangs had been sending threatening messages to the Eleven. Shane and Andrea had even been jumped, Shane now sporting the battered face of a warrior and a car in the Payday parking lot sporting a face-shaped dent from where Andrea had piledrived some cunt.

"How many schools did you tag?" Daria asked Quinn.

"I stopped counting when we hit Lincoln Elementary." Quinn walked into the kitchen and opened up the utilities cupboard. "Mum, I'm borrowing the baseball bat!"

"Have fun, sweetie! Remember to go for the balls!"

"Just to reiterate: the eleven of you are going-"

"Twelve, I called Death Rowe."

"Oh, that's different. I was going to say 'the eleven of you are going to try and pick a fight with every other gang, and believe you can win', but I'm sure that one extra person will make a difference."

"_Exactly!_" said Quinn the snark-proof.

Death Rowe's signal (knocking out the opening riff of I Wanna Be Sedated) came over the door, and Quinn opened it eagerly – to reveal Stacy, partly dressed in her Fashion Club gear and partly dressed as Nerd Stacy.

"Fucking ready, Killer!" said Stacy's in Death Rowe's voice.

Quinn's face was blank.

"Came as soon as I heard, but I still made sure to tool up!" Stacy's held up a changing-room coathanger.

"I… um…"

Daria had gone into Erin's room when she'd seen Stacy, and now came to the door with a punk wig (Erin kept some for when Helen & Jake were having dinner parties and she'd need to fit in). Gently, Daria placed the wig on Stacy's head; Quinn immediately came back to life.

"Sorry, got confused for a sec! _Let's go!_"

"Mum, I'm going to Jane's, i.e. far away from here for at _least_ the next twelve hours," called Daria.

After the kids were gone, Erin turned to Helen and protested: "Look, be honest, they _could_ have been some of Quinn's friends."

* * *

In Pizza Prince, Kevin was crushing beer cans against his head – Robert, Miguel, Joey, Jeffy and Johnnie all cheered (Mack-Daddy wasn't cheering but he must've been thinking about something captainy). Kevin threw up his arms in a victory pose.

And then, whoa, the main players of the Oakpine Native Americans came in, heading right for the table! Cool!

"You didn't miss it, dudes, I've got another empty can!"

"We're here to send a message about people from _loser schools_ tagging our school," growled the Oakpine quarterback.

"Aww man, someone did that?" Kevin was disgusted. "That sucks, bro."

Kevin didn't know why, but that seemed to really piss the guys off and then one of them hit him! Acting with great cunning, Kevin smashed the beer can on _that guy's_ forehead.

He hoped they'd believe his He Started It excuse now it was true…

* * *

On reflection, Sandi realised she shouldn't have bought quite so many dresses in one go – but damn it, she'd been so angry only a window-shop could calm her and that led to normal shopping, one of those vicious bike things.

"Well, well. San_diiii_ Griffin."

She froze. Five other girls had surrounded her, none of them from Lawndale. She recognised some of them. Eagleton girls. Queen Bees, the lot of them.

"You hear there's some _loser _school going around messing up their betters? And we have to look at their little mess. It makes us really _angry_, San_diiii_."

"Very, very angry."

They'd been moving towards but now stopped: Cindy was nearby, and looked like she could see them.

"We could still-"

"No! I heard about her rep, we can't go up against that sort of popularity. We leave it for n-"

"NO!" roared Sandi. "What are you _thinking?_ Look at her, she's a dork! She dresses _smart-casual on a date_, for Gok's sake! You shouldn't stop attacking me because of her! Carry on!"

Pause. "Aha, no, you're not getting us into _that _trap-"

"I AM POPULAR AND I DEMAND YOU HIT ME!"

* * *

"What's that you're really stirring in your tea? Honey, or bee vomit? Animal secretions that make us say yum! Tonight, on Sick, Sad World."

Jane leaned forward with the popcorn. "Oh, I've been looking forward to this one. Your aunt told me there's alligator secretions. And _what _secretion it was."

"As long as she's not sending you my baby photos, I'm happy."

"She hasn't." They'd been video clips.

Right after that tantalising cold-open, the episode cut off: "We interrupt this program for an emergency broadcast for Lawndale County: A gang fight that has been described as 'effing massive' has broken out at Romberg Street in Lawndale. County police are advising people to avoid the area, and state police tactical is already en route. Colonel Rawls will be personally-"

"How _did_ you do this?" asked Jane.

"Honestly. Whenever anything turns into utter chaos and destruction around here, it's always 'blame Daria'. Aren't friends supposed to claim their friends _aren't_ guilty? I am guilty but the principle, you understand." Daria sighed. "I told Quinn she should tag other schools-"

The news continued: "reports are also coming in of outbreaks of youth violence across Lawndale, though we cannot confirm if there is any link yet. Lawndale High quarterback Kevin Thompson told reporters this was unprovoked: _'he totally started it, bro!'_"

Daria blinked. "Well I didn't mean to do _that_, as Archduke Ferdinand's assassins said when Belgium was invaded."

"Ah, you meant to cause a controlled mayhem."

"Mmm. It'd be pretty stupid to say 'yes' now, wouldn't it. Ah, maybe it'll blow over. Possibly. Maybe."

* * *

Next morning in Annapolis:

Pascal followed State Superintendent Pryzbylewski down the hall like a particularly annoying dog, yapping away with rabid abandon:

"…for student safety to collapse _that _dramatically under DeMartino, well, at this point the situation is beyond me. I have no choice but to escalate the matter to you. He may, and I hesitate to pass blame on this, may be responsible for so much of the History budget being missing-"

The State Superintendent woke up. "There's a big budget shortfall in Lawndale County? The reports, the last ones we got, they all showed an improvement?"

"It seems that someone was fiddling the books to cover it, and I take full responsibility," said Pascal, and he wasn't even lying. "I've also found complaints about him, going back years: _severe_ anger issues..."

"Yes, um, we'll look into that, Mr Pascal, you can count on it."

The man beamed like a traditional-values politician in a male brothel, and departed. Pryzbylewski breathed a sigh of relief – _my office needs to stop telling people where I am when I'm out_ – and continued on, into the chamber where the Lawndale Incident Commission were in emergency summit.

Governor O'Malley was sweating like a turkey on Christmas Eve. "_Please_ tell me you have some good news, Roland."

"No, sorry," he said apologetically. "In fact, the schools may be _worse_ off than we first thought."

"_I_ have good news," said Colonel Bill Rawls. "I'm here and not still in Lawndale. The state police itself, on the other hand…" He chuckled. "Playing 'stop hitting yourself' with the Quick Response Teams, that's almost _admirable_ of those punks."

"This again shows the problems with the LCPD and the county's whole approach," said Secretary of Public Safety Maynard. "We've had incidents going on for _two years_, not to mention the Metalmouth killings, and the county police are still inadequate. We need a purging."

"We also need a permanent National Guard base in Lawndale itself," said Brigadier-General Hinz. "We've been there six times already, we might as well face the inevitable."

O'Malley turned to his Press Secretary. "Does that still look bad, Alma?"

"You _wish,_" she replied. "Before yesterday, I did some covert polling and sixty percent of Lawndale residents were in favour. Only sixteen percent said they had faith in the police – that's discounting the police, if I ask them too it's only twelve percent."

O'Malley dragged the skin of his face down from his eyes. "Do we have _any_ good news? Anything?"

MEMA Director Ruth raised his hand. "Nothing's exploded yet."

"I like that _yet_, fills me with confidence-"

"Oh fuck you, Bill."

"_Any solutions?"_ said the governor, very loudly indeed.

Business Secretary Bell raised his hand.

"No, Russell, we are not selling the whole county off to developers."

"Actually, I was going to suggest burning it this time. For the insurance."

"I think," said Pryzbylewski slowly, "that we should watch and see if things manage to calm down, before we decide on any action. Things may settle down again."

* * *

The Maryland chapter of the Hells Angels roared into the grounds of Lawndale High, scattering students left and right.

Steve narrowed his eyes and turned to his guards: "Only _one person_ can go on break now."

The lead biker drove up to the steps and called: "We've got an appointment to see DeMartino about a sponsorship deal!"

Even without looking, Daria knew Jane was staring at her. "This one's not on me, it's on Erin. She mentioned the 'SexEd' charity benefit, Dad decided he'd drum up some charitable funding for the school too… I have nothing to-"

Stacy walked past with her paintball mask on. Daria silently pulled it off her.

"Ta muchly, guv," said Jock Stacy in Fashion Stacy's clothes. "Fuck yeah!"

"I think you should go home," said Daria.

"Oh, I couldn't do that! Learning is much too-" She saw the bikers. "_aaaaaiiiiii heeeeeh-hnnn_"

"Yeah, I think you win that one, Daria," said Jane,

Stacy blinked, let herself tense up and her face take a more aggressive look. "Get fucked, you – hang on."

She stormed off to where Sandi was. On instinct, Daria took off after her, trying to catch up, not entirely sure why and what she planned to do-

"Someone should really tell those bikers that the 80s are over and-" Sandi looked over to Stacy. "Ah, Stacy, we were wondering where-"

The headbutt caught Sandi unprepared, knocking her to the ground with a split lip. All talk died across the school grounds.

"That's for being a cunt, you cunt!" Blink. "Oh my god, Sandi, what happened, oh my god did I um why is everyone staring why-" Blink. Ramrod straight, face hard.

"Wuh-wuh-wuh," babbled Sandi, terrified, desperate to move but limbs like lead.

Daria caught up far, far too late. A thousand sarcastic lines ran through her head and she struggled not to say them, to leave her shields down. "Stacy." No response. "Death Rowe." Nothing. "Goggle-Eyes?"

Stacy turned to her.

"I need you to come with me for a second."

Slowly, unsure, Stacy began to move. The grounds, and everyone on them, stayed silent, watching. The calm would not last and the storm would break, but if Daria was lucky it would last until she could get the girl to Steve, who could get her to Nurse Chase, who could get her… Who could get her whatever came next. The calm just had to last that long.

Stacy looked over the grounds and saw Jeffy, scared and uncomprehending.

A low, strangled noise came from her throat and her eyes rolled and she fell over, and then the grounds were not silent at all.

* * *

The ambulance had taken Stacy away and nobody knew where it had taken her _to._ Sandi had gone home, in hysterics over the whole thing. Within the hour, the whole school – even the students at the other side of it – had 'been there' when it happened and the tale was growing more outlandish, and under all the gossip was an undercurrent of genuine unease. It came out that DeMartino had been seen with his head in his hands, and that the superintendent was on sight with a gleam in his eyes.

Within the hour, Jane dragged Daria into the bathroom:

"This isn't _on you_, got it? You're not responsible for Stacy."

"You sure about that?" Daria's face was pale. "On a scale of quantum physics to Trent being asleep at 3PM, where does this rank on things you're sure about?"

"You barely talk to her-"

"I've seen her with these problems, you _know_ I have, damn it! I could have, _should have_, said something-"

"What and to who? Other people should have seen it, okay? And you didn't _cause_ it. Damn it, Daria, not everything bad that happens is because of something you started!"

She smiled, but there was no mirth in it. "Elemental debating mistake. You're admitting there are other things I am responsible for. Like half the football team walking around with bruises because I sent Quinn off. And how much did I contribute to O'Neill-"

"Oh since _when_ have you given a damn about O'Neill and football jocks, come _on_! Now you're just trying to wallow in angst."

"Yeah, not caring about people certainly isn't damning-"

"_Knock it off!"_ Jane threw her hands up in despair. "Stacy's thrown you, alright, I get that, but you need to get past that. Everything's going to work out, trust me. It has so far."

* * *

"I could overlook your… _unorthodox_ approach to sponsorship deals on its own," said Pascal, making no attempt to hide his pleasure, "and I'm sure if I didn't you could argue it down. But that poor girl, dear me. She's been a student for two years and one of yours, no less, right? And you never noticed?"

DeMartino didn't speak. He kept a sullen eye contact and his fingers gripped his hair like a drowning man on driftwood, but he didn't speak.

"The buck is going to stop _here_, Anthony. I'm going to have to go back to the State Superintendent – oh yes, he's already aware of what you've been doing. And strange, I don't see you saying all that fine talk about winning if you lose your job. Or was it how you lost it that would count?"

"Don't act like you _care_ about Ms Rowe," DeMartino hissed. "That you care about _any_ of them."

Pascal smiled. "Now you're just getting desperate. I'd advise you resign before the inevitable, but oh dear, there's nobody to take the principal job yet is there? Better come up with one soon."

"Do THIS and the schools CLOSES! You know-"

"Ever since Li left, I have busted my _ass_ to keep the school from closing and fucking up the rest of my district, but now? Now this whole mess is at state level! My ass is _Teflon_. Once I get the marching orders, it's _over_. No more grade scandals, no more fucked-up charity missions, no more court cases, no more _running battles against the guards_ – I wave bye-bye and it's all on _you_." Pascal paused, the triumphant mask slacking for a second to show blessed relief. "It's going to end."

* * *

Tori Jericho was the school's top gossip factory and Ed "the Head" Parker was the school's top man at being completely ignored by the world. She'd slipped him money now and then to spy on people for her, but getting him to hang outside the principal's office had been a masterstroke.

Within minutes, everyone knew what was facing Lawndale High.

* * *

"This is _bullshit!_"

An emergency staff meeting was being held but every teacher knew what was coming before they came in – they followed school gossip too. Sherman was making his feelings clear before DeMartino had even spoken.

"They ain't giving us a _chance!_ The kids are actually _trying_, have been since Tommy Sherman's speech – you've all seen that, right? They're trying harder, they're showing the colours… We ain't even reached the game Saturday yet! If we can show the town-"

"And that's why they'll close us before Saturday if they can," said Mrs Bennett, tired – she'd only come _back_ to the job in the last month. "You can't claim something needs to be shut down if you let it improve. I've seen it all the time in the business world and school politics both."

"We're just gonna take it?"

"The STATE government is looking at us," said DeMartino. "I DOUBT we have any friends at that LEVEL."

"So unless a damn miracle comes along, we've wasted our time and we're all at new schools, _if_ we even get new schools," spat Nikahd. "I'm not even thinking of the lack of space or Lawndale's reputation-"

"You're thinking we've pissed off the bosses, right?" Barch drew her lips back into a bared grin. "I wish I'd done _worse_, if I'm going to be hanged anyway."

"There's SOME good news," said DeMartino. "We won't have to get up at FIVE AM anymore."

"Man's got a point," said Sherman.

* * *

"Hey, I'm no longer hearing 'this isn't on you'," said Daria. "I win. Woooo."

"Yeah, fine, part of this is on you," said Jane. "But even if we took you out-"

"If we take me out, none of this would have happened _at all_. It all started when I went to the press about-"

"No, no, no. Don't you _dare_ think that you shouldn't have exposed Li's system. Don't be that damn selfish. I was balls-deep in it and it was corrupt and degrading, and I got threatened to stay there or Morris would _kill my whole future_, you think that should have _stayed?_"

Daria shook her head.

"Well, there you go!"

"I'm also glad Colonel Gaddafi is gone, but you'll note that Nato didn't nuke out Tripoli and then send in cyborg rapists with Rage virus infections. They sat down and thought 'gee, maybe there should be some Libya left afterwards'. You know what I thought? I thought 'I want Morris and the track team to hurt' and I didn't think about what _else_ might happen. I should have thought things through but I didn't _care_.

"Ever since then, maybe ever since I stood up to Grandma Barksdale and decided the consequences didn't matter, I've been playing My Little Chaos God with the events around me and, okay, yeah, sometimes that's been a good thing. Other times? Other times I just got lucky. I've been a drunk who decided to go street racing, it's all really impressive until the inevitable fucking crash _that takes others with her._"

Jane was silent for a while, and finally said: "Okay, yeah. But I still say better that than if you just ignored things. Better an unstable mess than more of Li."

"You say that, but you don't know where you're going to school next. There's one thousand, four hundred, and forty students. Where are they all going to go? Answer: wherever they get damn well told. You might…" Daria looked away. "You might be in a different school to me. And neither of us is popular at _any_ school in the county for what we've done."

The unspoken threat hung in the air.

"So I have some damage control to do," said Daria.

* * *

The first thing Daria did was to stop her father from finding out about Upchuck's 'business interests' – and thus preventing yet another scandal – without having to give a reason: she sent an anonymous email to Upchuck saying SexEd's location was going to be raided by the police and let him move it at the last minute, so her dad couldn't get there.

(Coincidentally, there really _was_ going to be a raid and when it only turned up Jake in an empty building – "you need any consulting done?" – a search was done for a mole, which turned up an unrelated mafia informant)

The second was to dispose of Stacy's paintball mask, and get to Stacy's locker before it was emptied and 'vanish' anything else related to the Goggle-Eyes vigilante.

The third was to go to Quinn and say "I will pay you to not start any fights with other schools until Monday".

"What if they start them?"

"Run away."

"You can't pay me enough for _that_, bitch! You'll owe me a favour and I'm collecting it in advent!"

Daria sighed. "What is it?"

Quinn's bravado collapsed. "I dunno where they took Stacy."

"Oh." Daria swallowed. "Sure, sis. No problem."

* * *

"Mr Pryzbylewski, there's a Steve on the line for you."

"Steve who?"

"All I got was Steve, sir."

Pryzbylewski sighed and took the call. "Hello?"

"Remember at Tilghman Middle when Class 8B stole a whole vending machine?"

"…oh, you're _that_Steve. Didn't you owe me some money?"

"Yes. I'm working at Lawndale High now and there's something I want to pass on about Superintendent Pascal…"

* * *

Hospitals and care homes would not give out confidential information to complete strangers. However, Aunt Amy had done some research at the local asylums for a follow-up story on Metalmouth; Daria made sure to call the contacts Amy had made and drop her name about. Networking had its uses.

"Stacy's at the Brookside Rest Home," she told Quinn. "They have her under observation and she's calm."

"And we know why people in the funny farm are calm, don't we?" spat Quinn. "I should've- I mean, _duh!_ Stacy was Stacy, why didn't I get that? What sort of friend am-"

"Don't think that, Quinn." _Because I honestly don't know how to argue the opposite._ "You didn't put her there and you're trying to do right by her now." _And I've helped cover up part of her psychosis, which may deny her some of the help she needs, because I decided the rest of Lawndale High was more important. So what does that make me?_

"Uh, sis? You kinda spaced out there. You okay?"

"That doesn't even deserve an answer." _I'll be adequate if what I've done helps. Please let it help._

* * *

The next day.

Superintendent Pryzbylewski had come down from Annapolis and Pascal was grinning like the cat who'd invented cream-flavoured mice, but DeMartino refused to show weakness. He could at least have his pride for a bit longer.

"I've been talking to Governor O'Malley," said Pryzbylewski. "What happens in this county is of great concern to him. And we looked at all the evidence and information we had, and we've come to a… difficult decision."

"I SEE," said DeMartino.

"I doubt it." Pryzbylewski turned to Pascal. "We had another look at these financial irregularities and that led us to some _very_ tangled paperwork. Ploughing through that would be really difficult."

"I apologise, Superintendent Cartwright left a mess-"

"I'm really _good_ at tangled paper trails."

Pascal didn't respond.

"Now, obviously we don't want another scandal in this county's school system. The arrest of the superintendent – again – for fraud, blackmail, things like that, we'd rather avoid that if we can. But I think you're going to take early retirement, and I also think that, as long as it stays calm, Lawndale High will stay open and it won't answer to your office for a while. Are we clear?"

"Oh YES," said DeMartino, smiling.

* * *

Friday came and went without incident, and was actually one of the most peaceful days of all and had a record number of students doing _work_. Everyone knew the stakes.

As the day ended, Daria let herself relax. The week was down. As long as next week was uneventful too, the school could last until the start of summer – and if it did that, inertia would have set in and the government would let it continue on. She'd cleaned up the mess she'd made.

"You realise what all this means," she asked Jane.

"That this school sucks like the love child of Paris Hilton and an industrial vacuum cleaner," said Jane.

"Aside from that. I now have to use all my skills to keep the school _open_ and _prevent_ issues."

"Ewww. Sellout."

Across the grounds, the Maleficent Eleven and the sad remnants of the Fashion Club eyed each other warily. In the end, it was Jackie that brokered the truce:

"You going to see Stacy later?"

"Yes," said Sandi. "I suppose you could follow if you wish."

* * *

Saturday was a minor game between the Lions and the Oakpine Native Americans, but the stands were crammed full of Lawndale students and staff members, all decked up in the colours and cheering their heads off as the team went on the pitch. They had something to prove: that they were down but not out. _Never_ out.

As the emotion built to a fever pitch, Brittany nodded to the other cheerleaders and prepared to do the best cheer routine of her life:

_"The sun on the meadow is summery warm/The stag in the forest runs free…"_

* * *

Daria was watching TV with Jane when suddenly, horrible, she realised that she'd forgotten about the cheerleaders.

"Damn it! _Damn it!_ Stupid, _stupid-_"

Jane grabbed hold of her. "Amiga! Calm down! Whatever it is, just calm-"

"I cleared up all these things except _the one in front of half the town!_ Remember the cheerleaders gag?"

"No-"

"Me neither! A little throwaway gag because _I didn't think!_ All I've – I got the cheerleaders, after a big fiery speech from one of our teachers, to do a _pro-Nazi song in public_ and not in the context the original musical intended, so it's just going to look like-"

"Shit-" Jane recovered fast. "Maybe it won't be that bad. Maybe-"

"Oh, it's going to be bad, half the stadium will burn to death as a direct result and then locust swarms will descend on the town! I screwed the pooch with a strap-on chainsaw this time!" Tears started to form in her eyes and she blinked them away furiously. "I don't know how bad this will get, I just know it's – going – to – be – _bad_. And it's all on me this time."

* * *

"There really is no way to spin this," said Alma. "The students either look grossly ill-informed and ignorant, or they look crass and a different type of ignorant. On its own, that would be bad but with everything else – it's too much in too short a time."

"Any objections, Roland?" asked O'Malley.

"No," said Pryzbylewski. "They had their chance, I'm sick of dealing with it. Let's at least arrest Pascal while we're at it."

"Agreed. Full purge. It's all over for them."

THE END

NEXT: This Is No Fun

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The series has been leading up to this point for a while now. Originally, I had vague ideas of a different event kicking it off but when I rewatched The F Word, I realised that was too fitting to not use.

The names of the other schools and the Oakpine Native Americans comes from the old Daria websites.

Onepu, as ever, is borrowed from the Not So Different series by J-D. A number of the Maryland government characters are real, the others are borrowed from The Wire. Tomorrow Belongs To Me is from Cabaret and a very, very sinister song (especially when Spitting Image used it for a skit on the 1987 Conservative re-election in the UK…)

* * *

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME…**

Helen entered the room, dumping her briefcase: "There's angel hair in the freezer, girls, and don't forget, tomorrow we're hosting the couples workshop. It's Focus on Teens night! I expect you to be there, Quinn."

"Can't!" said Quinn. "I've got a date! Remember what you said on Saturday? A commitment's a commitment."

"Yes, I guess I did say that," said Helen. "Daria, I've left fifty dollars on the kitchen table; as long as you're far away from the house tomorrow, I don't care what you're doing."

There was no swearing, spitting, or general unpleasantness in response.

"Quinn, did your sister come home today?"

"Uhhh… I dunno, I haven't seen her since…" She thought about it. "Was she at breakfast?"

The two found Daria still in bed, drooling, two empty bottles of vodka on the floor. On her bedside table was a note: "Mr O'Neill was going to do another self esteem lesson in homeroom. I have taken the necessary precautions. See you Friday."


	40. This Is No Fun

A continuing series of AUs with a simple "Morgendorffers as punks" premise, and the chaos that results has fucked everything up for everyone. Lawndale High is closed, every student and teacher's future is in question, and Daria has to deal with blame from the worst of sources: herself.

* * *

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**

**Episode 40: This Is No Fun**

On the last day of Lawndale High, there was an assembly to mark its passing. Ideally, that would be a moment of fond reflection and solemn atmosphere; what everyone _got_ was the visible absence of half the faculty (including Principal DeMartino), the visible who-gives-a-fuck look on the remaining half, and an atmosphere that'd make a Calvinist funeral seem like a barrel of monkeys.

"So," Ms Defoe said to the assembled students, "it's our very last day at Lawndale High."

The students waited patiently for the next sentence.

"Remember that time we…" Defoe thought very hard for a good time at the school. "Wasn't the roller hockey game fun? Eh?"

Coach Nikahd walked over, took the microphone, and said, "assembly adjourned", making her the most popular Lawndale teacher of all time.

* * *

Jane had been unpopular for years, but now she'd made the jump to unperson. Nobody was even bothering to hurl verbal abuse. She could be 'accidentally' pushed, kicked, spitballed, and have her food knocked from her hands, but even then nobody would say a word to her. She'd helped kick everything off when she'd stood up for herself against Coach Morris, so of course she was responsible for all the things she hadn't done too.

She was glad school was ending because a week of this treatment had left her on edge – hour upon hour, every day, of constant harassment, wherever she went. And she couldn't retaliate with anything in case that became the excuse for _escalation_. She was only safe when she hung out near Quinn, but Jane refused to do that for more than a few minutes at a time. Relying on someone else didn't sit right with her. Anyway, she had Daria to suffer with.

Until today. Because today, Daria hadn't come to school.

She'd fought off mental images of overdoses and self-harm for an hour, then sought out Quinn in the hope she'd know something.

"She said she didn't feel like it," said Quinn. "She need another reason?"

"Normally, yes, or _no one_ would ever come here."

"Well there's the fucking problem right there," said Quinn sagely. "Look, Daria's just… well, you've seen how she is right now, yeah? I think Mum and Dad thought she should sit today out. Because, y'know."

Jane sighed. "I do indeed. Screw it, I doubt anyone's gonna notice if _I _go home. I'm surprised you turned up, actually."

"You're going, you're my sister's friend – look, shut the fuck up about not wanting help, you might change your mind, right?"

"..ah, screw it. Nikki's been on my back all week, can you hit her?"

"Pbbt, I'd twat her if you were _Kevin's_ sister's friend!"

* * *

Daria had woken up at seven and gone back to bed. She'd woken up again at nine thirty.

She'd stayed in bed, awake, for three more hours. She'd closed her eyes and then she'd opened them to stare at the walls, then closed them again, then opened them again. At midday, she got up and spent twenty minutes in the shower, her mind blank and her eyes vacant.

Breakfast was an unbuttered slice of toast. Everyone had gone out by this point and the house was silent as the grave.

She finished breakfast and sat down to stare at a book without really reading.

At one, her mother came back into the house to check on her. Daria made a few non-committal grunts and single word sentences, and then continued to not read.

At one forty, Daria went back to bed for three hours. Jane turned up in two hours and came in to talk to her, but the conversation lasted just ten minutes and Daria did not rise during it.

At four forty, Daria got up because her parents asked her to. She turned on the TV and stared at Sick, Sad World without really taking it in.

At six, Daria came down to microwave herself some leftovers and ignored a few tentative, worried questions from Erin. Then she went back up and by eight, she'd managed to get back to sleep again.

"I've seen her having a breakdown and I've seen her overusing her sarcasm to avoid being scared, and that freaked me out, but _this?_ Where do I even start?"

Jane had been visiting Tom more and more over the past week: she didn't feel like meeting at the usual hangouts where she might run into classmates, and she couldn't just talk over the phone or online, she needed face-to-face. One thing you had to give Tom was that he could comfort like the best of them, a side effect of his paternalistic side.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's a very good question."

'Could' didn't mean 'would'. "Last time, you told me that I was making a positive difference to Daria by being there. This is a bit of a disappointment."

"Right, okay, sorry. I just don't know either. I've actually been noting down how many words she's been saying in any given conversation. I can prove scientifically that she's becoming more and more monosyllabic, and on a daily basis."

Jane frowned. "You really took notes?"

"I thought it might help me figure something out. It didn't. Except, y'know, that Daria's getting worse, but I was hoping for something more useful."

"Maybe she'll get better now the school's finally gone. That should settle things, right?"

"Or it gives her three months of nothing to do but dwell on it. And then, when her new school starts…" Tom looked apologetic, but not that apologetic. "Being a cynic is a full time job, it seems. Joy."

"You visiting her tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Going to try and get her out of the house – specifically, to the country club and all the rich, arrogant, impossible-not-to-snark people within. Questioning the worth of complete strangers should cheer her up."

* * *

Erin answered the door when Tom called; she looked nervous, had been all week, but put on a smile when she saw it was him. Everything was hitting a little too close to home for her.

"It's good that you're trying to help her."

"I kinda have to. It's the third clause of the Boyfriend Contract."

"Yes, well, some people wouldn't – anyway, never mind. She's upstairs."

On his way upstairs, he saw Jake Morgendorffer patiently gluing a model skeleton together. Or, at least, he had been until bits of plastic bone had been glued to his own raging hand.

"Damn it, I'm GLAD you're dead, you bastard!"

"Uh, hi, Snake."

"Oh, hey Tomb Sloane! I'm making a gift for Daria! She still likes dinosaurs, right?" He then, from memory, repeated: "No, plesiosaurs aren't dinosaurs, they're a separate species. Heh, don't want another lecture like the last one… Or maybe I do, she still likes lecturing people, right?"

Tom almost asked why, if the model kit was for Daria, her dad was the one assembling it. But the answer would probably be a lament about how the toy hadn't been properly assembled and how the Man was ripping people off, so he stayed quiet and just headed up. Besides, Jake was trying to help.

He knocked on her door. "Open up, it's the Thought Police."

Nothing.

Tom pushed the door open and Daria was sitting next to her computer. The screen showed a Wikipedia page but her eyes showed no sign of reading anything. Her clothes were crumpled and several days old, her hair uncombed.

"Hey, dear."

Daria didn't respond, just like she hadn't two days before. Annoyance reared up within him and he squashed it as best he could.

"What're you reading?"

She shrugged.

"Well, I think we've exhausted all possible conversations there." No response. "Hmm, tough room. Don't make me resort to fart jokes."

"Resort to them downwind," said Daria, but her voice was completely toneless when she said it.

"Speaking of farts, I was planning to visit the country club and take advantage of my parent's tab. I was hoping you'd come along, two mouths are better than one and everything."

"I don't want to go outside."

"Yeah, I have noticed that. You've been making Quasimodo look sociable." His voice was harsher than he'd wanted and he waited before speaking again. "Look, it'll be good to get out–"

"Yes, I might find something I can fuck up. That'd be fun."

"Daria, I know–"

"Or maybe I can stare around the country club and remember the last time I spoke to my grandmother, and how I deliberately tested that relationship to see if it would break and what a surprise, it did. I can remember how I deliberately pissed away the chance to get out of Lawndale High and go to a better school."

That threw him. "But that 'chance' was making you miserable and she was treating you like crap! You can't seriously be wishing you'd gone along with her!"

"Maybe I was wrong. Or maybe I'd have just been– oh, it doesn't matter."

Silence filled the room until Tom said: "okay, if you don't want to go out, I'll stay in. What do you want to do?"

"Honestly, I just want to go to bed."

_This early?_ "Alright. I'll come back tomorrow?"

No response.

Tom would have said something, but Jake chose that very moment to burst in: "kiddo, I got you something! Check it out! Dinos–_ plesiosaurs_ are still cool, right?"

Daria looked at the feeble model and said: "You've put the elasmosaurus' head on the end of the tail."

* * *

After leaving the house, Tom let himself have a few minutes of seething quiet in his car. Then he phoned Jane.

"That didn't work at all."

"Damn it. We'll find something else."

"Maybe we will. I don't think she _wants_ to be helped. She was talking about how she wishes she'd done what her gran wanted, for god's sake."

Pause. "Oh." Jane sounded bothered but trying to hide out. "Well, now we know Daria's on drugs, that was handy to know," and now she sounded too cheerful.

"Jane, this is me. What's the problem?"

"It's nothing. She broke off with her gran shortly before she kicked Li's boat down Shit Creek without the paddle, and if she hadn't that wouldn't have happened."

"That doesn't sound like no– oh. She did that because she wanted to get at Li and Morris for–"

"She's just upset, she doesn't mean that."

"Alright." _I'd hope she didn't meant that._ Even in his private thoughts, it was 'that'. Daria had kicked things off after Morris and Li had tried to bully Jane; Daria wishing she hadn't done that was anathema. "As you said, we'll try and find something else. See you."

And back at the house, Daria was staring at the wall and waiting to sleep.

* * *

The idea was a simple one: Daria could tune her brain out in front of the telly or her computer and she could get by on monosyllables in a conversation, but she'd _have_ to pay attention for a video game. The X Box was moved upstairs and a co-op game started on Trent's copy of _Strontium Dogs_. Conversation was raised between Jane and Tom, all the while waiting for Daria to join in; on the screen, her character responded slowly to each threat and challenge, but it _was_ responding. There was a spark in there.

"Have you played this one before?" asked Tom.

She mumbled rather than spoke, but the words "a bit" were still audible.

"We've been drafted by Trent a few times when Max and Nicky refuse to co-op," said Jane. "Remember that time he fell asleep in the middle of the boss fight?"

"Mm."

The screen erupted into fire and violence as a new wave of enemies made their attack. Daria pounded her controller, sending her character into reverse while firing explosives to cover.

"You remember that arts colony I was applying to?" Jane looked to Daria for a reaction. "I've been accepted into their summer scholarship programme. I'd be gone two months."

Their characters were withdrawing to cover, Daria firing the last explosives. Her weapon clicked four times before she remembered to switch.

"I'm still not committed, but…"

They waited. It was a good few seconds before the enemy began their slow approach.

"What's stopping you going?" asked Daria. She fired wild for a bit but was soon making hits every two seconds – bang, dead, bang, dead. "If you want to go, you can just go."

"It'd be two months of just cell and email contact, amiga." Jane missed her shots. "If you want, I could–"

"Just _go_." Bang, dead, bang, dead, bang, dead.

"What I'm saying is, we won't have much time together before I go." She switched to explosive rounds and started zeroing in. "We should do something before I go, what do you say?"

"Mm."

Tom held the button down and strafed his part of the screen. "Remember that club with the nuclear war bunker theme? That might be cool to go to. What do you think, Daria?"

"Mm." Bang, dead."

"Or we could go round my house during my dad's fraternity reunion. They've got a mean game of charades planned."

"Mm." Bang, dead.

Jane began to miss, her character took hits. "Charades it is then! No one ever guesses my Manos impression."

"I'd rather not do charades." Bang, dead.

"What do you want to do instead?"

"I dunno." Bang, dead. "Does it matter?"

"Yes," said Tom. He reloaded and held down to fire the whole clip. "It matters a lot. It doesn't have to be anything fancy but something outside of this house, eh? C'mon. We won't see Jane for a while."

Bang, dead, bang, dead.

Jane's character fell. "Damn it. I'm out. You two able to carry on without me?"

"I dunno." Tom stopped to reload. "Daria?"

"No. We're almost out of ammunition and we can't make a break for it without you; we'll last another minute and then we're dead."

"Yeah, well, getting there's half the fun. Last one to die's a big wuss!"

"There's no point." Daria abruptly paused the game and exited it. "We could try it again if you want."

"What do you want to do?"

"Nothing really. I might go to bed soon."

"It's five," said Jane.

"There's not much to do."

"Yeah, sitting right here," said Tom, his voice brittle.

"I didn't ask you two to come round."

There was a long, leaden silence.

"I, I should probably get the game to Trent, I think he might've been sleeping with his eyes open when I asked to borrow it." Jane stood up and took the game back without looking at either of her friends. "I'll talk to you guys later?"

"Sure," said Tom. "Right?"

Silence from Daria.

Tom waited until Jane had left and then waited some more, and then finally, with his voice tight: "Do you realise what you just said to Jane there?"

"I said I didn't ask you two to come round. I didn't."

"We came round here because we love you and we're worried about you."

"Why?"

"Why _what?_ Why are we worried or why do we love you? Because I can give answers to both if you're actually asking and not trying to get us to leave. I can tell that's what you're doing. Mr O'Neill could tell that's what you're doing."

"Haven't got the _damn hint_, have you."

Tom shut his eyes and counted to ten. "If you want me to leave now, I'll leave. I'll be back tomorrow. To be honest, if you say things like that to Jane again, she won't be."

"Then she'd be better off than you."

She'd said it so quietly he almost didn't hear it, but once he'd registered the words it was like they'd been screamed out.

"_What?_ Is that what this is about, you _want_ us to break up with you because, what, you think we'd be better off without you? That's _our_ fucking shout, Daria! You can't seriously tell us that you're so irredeemably–"

"So how often do you talk with your extended family since they met me and you called them horsefuckers in response?"

He didn't count this time. "Okay, you win, whoopee doo, I'll wait until you ask me before I make contact again, and if you want to wait until the damn Last Trump then so be it! But we need the wood, Daria, so _get the fuck off the cross!_"

And once he'd stormed out, the room was empty even though Daria's shell was in it.

* * *

Helen and Erin had met in the wine bar that Erin went to after work; her aunt stood out like the sorest of thumbs, but it was somewhere to talk where Daria wouldn't overhear.

"She's not going to stop dwelling on it," said Erin, "that's pretty clear by now. She's _deliberately_ dwelling on it. It's something you do when you're at rock bottom and you're the one who dug the hole. When you're afraid that there's an even lower depth and that if you try to get out, you'll only dig down."

Helen drew her fingers across her face. "She always seems so strong but underneath the armour, there was always… Whatever you think you can do, do it. You're the expert on this, Erin."

"There's one thing. It might have worked with me, I _think_ it will work with her. She has to be far away from any reminders of Lawndale High–"

"–and I can't do that, I know." Helen looked her niece in the eye, without wavering. "I know this is the price of having a daughter like Daria. There are things I can never truly understand or help her with. There's a reason why I've kept contact with Amy, however strained things got between us and they've been strained for over twenty years. So if you have the solution and I can't be a part of it, I'll accept that."

"I know. You're a good mum, Aunt Helen." Erin looked away, embarrassed. "Uh, heh, besides, if I don't do this, Uncle Jake's going to bankrupt you with all those toy dinosaurs."

"You know, for _years_ I thought he was only pretending to forget dinosaurs didn't swim or fly so Daria could have the fun of lecturing him…"

* * *

The sun was going down when Daria finally left the house and it was dark as pitch when she reached Pizza King. She could feel the looks and hear the remarks from every other student in the place, and continued to pick at the pizza she'd ordered. After ten minutes, she left – the pizza was barely eaten – and headed out. There weren't many people out. None of Quinn's gang had been in the place.

She walked on and she could hear people following. She was near an alleyway. She didn't speed up even when they did.

The first hit sent her stumbling into the alley before she was stabilised by the rough grabbing of her hair. She saw six people, three from her year and two seniors and there was Siobhan Higgins, ol' Chipmunk herself, who had a look of triumph on her face; Daria also recognised Adam from some of her classes, and there was Brittany holding her. She wasn't that surprised Brittany had been the one to land the first blow.

"You–you got us to, to, and then you think you walk around _and get away with_– "

Brittany's increasingly high voice broke off and she punched Daria hard in the gut. She kept the girl upright by her hair and hit her again. There was a squeal in her voice, the same noise made when she'd thought Daria was stealing Kevin and tried to attack then.

"No fucking clever words or threats this time, eh?" None of the others looked as excited as Siobhan. "No metaphors to make, huh, no snark?"

"It's fitting that you're here," said Daria, or tried to.

The next few seconds were a blur but she was pretty sure Siobhan had taken over and whatever had happened, she was on the floor. Her glasses were off; there was a crunch of glass and plastic from nearby. She'd landed face-first on a bin bag – someone was holding her down, then she was up and then down again, the bag's contents spilt open now.

"Where you belong with the other fucking trash–"

Someone kicked her in the side, and then another. Someone else was yelling an insult but she couldn't tell what. Then someone kicked her a few times, that was probably Brittany, it was her form of attack.

There was no way out of this.

Someone called out and the kicks stopped.

"None of your fucking business, get lost!"

"Shan't." Steve's voice.

"This isn't school and you're not even a security guard anymore, so what the fuck authority do you have anyway? You can't make us do shit!"

"_I_ can't make you do something? Seriously, you want to try that argument, you got your eyes closed or something?"

After a second, someone let go of Daria and she could hear the group departing. Steve was picking her up a few seconds later, and she winced from the pain of moving.

"No offence, Daria, but for a smart girl you were really fucking dumb going out to a Lawndale High hangout without a posse. Come on; let's get you home. And before you ask, _everyone_ in the school staff knows where _your_ family lives."

* * *

Her parents had both been out when she got home. She could wash herself clean, put on her spare glasses, and just keep quiet about the bruising, they wouldn't know. Quinn had been home and – Daria assumed because she couldn't see her clearly – looked livid, but she wouldn't 'nark' on her sister.

She had asked, her voice shaking and all the more terrible for it, "who did it?".

"Just some people."

"_Who did it?_ Gimme some _names_, sis! Fucking track team again? Was it them?"

"Just some people."

"Whoever it was needs to learn a _lesson_, sis! Anyone fucks with one Morgendorffer they fuck with all of them and they go home in an ambulance! _Who did it?_"

"Let it _go_. Please."

Daria spent twenty minutes in the shower.

* * *

She woke up to hear someone in her room, opening and closing the cupboard, but she kept her eyes shut for another hour. There were bruises now and that made it more uncomfortable to stay lying down, but there was nothing to get up for.

She got up at twelve to eat. Downstairs, Erin was waiting for her with a pair of packed suitcases.

"Daria! Better eat quick, we've got a schedule to keep."

"Aren't you still employed?"

"I've cashed in my holidays from work." Underneath Erin's bubbly demeanour, there was something hard as steel. "And we're going on a holiday! A little road trip for the girls, and we're going to meet up with Aunt Amy on the way!"

"I'd rather not."

"That's tough titty, pardon my French. I've already packed your clothes and your parents are expecting you gone. And I'm bigger and older than you, I can and will _drag you out_ if I have to."

Daria shrugged. "Alright."

"Not curious where we're going?"

"Does it matter?"

"I dunno, I arranged for Aunt Amy to pick the route." Erin gestured at the kitchen table. "As I said, better eat quick!"

Daria ate slowly and listlessly. That was the only thing that could even vaguely be taken as defiance, but Erin knew it wasn't. The normal Daria would have been on the attack if she'd been forced to go anywhere without warning; that alone squashed any remaining qualms she had about this plan.

_And if this doesn't work, I have no idea what will._

THE END

Next: Is It Fun Yet?

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The series has been leading up to this point for a while now. Originally, I had vague ideas of a different event kicking it off but when I rewatched The F Word, I realised that was too fitting to not use.

The next chapter has more jokes, I swear to McClaren.

* * *

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME…**

"You're just mad because I said you're shallow. Which I meant in some other way!"

"So then, it is cute?" asked Brooke, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Let's ask an average person," said Sandi. "Quinn, there's that girl you know. Let's ask her." She started to wave. "Hello! Quinn's cousin or something."

Daria noticed that Quinn didn't want her to come, so on general principle she slouched on over.

"So Quinn's little friend, or whatever, take a look at this. It's Brooke's new nose."

Daria's head snapped back and it was only by sheer luck that Quinn managed to push her away in time.

"_No_, Daria, Sandi wasn't asking you to break it! _She didn't want you to break it!_"

"She wasn't?" The punk looked mystified. "What the fuck did she call me over and point out a nose for if it wasn't to break it?" She turned and punched Sandi hard in the gut. "You need to be more _careful_, bitch, that's how wars get started!"


	41. Is It Fun Yet?

PREVIOUSLY: Lawndale High is closed, every student and teacher's future is in question, and Daria has to deal with blame from the worst of sources: herself.

* * *

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**

**Episode 41: Is It Fun Yet?**

The little car trundled gently down the suburban street, tasteful colours calming the hearts of the middle classes that beheld it. A vanity license plate spelt out "HIM3R1N".

Inside, a twenty four-year-old woman with a fashionable blouse and skirt to match, with sensible but snazzy shoes. To her right, a girl wearing a sombre field jacket and skirt, vegetating on… something.

"Now, Daria, I know it's not easy going out of your comfort zone like this."

"Lawndale's my comfort zone?"

"Ha, ha!" laughed Erin unconvincingly. "I just mean that, er… I don't know, it sounded cleverer in my head." Pause. "Wait, I figured it out!"

Daria turned the radio on. "Can't hear you."

_Well, at least she was sarcastic._

* * *

"Hey, let's try a game! I Spy with my little eye, something beginning with… T!"

Silence.

"No? Nothing? Give up?"

"If I give up, can I stop having this stupid, boring conversation?"

_Right, big guns time_. "Daria, if we don't have a conversation, we'll have to listen to the radio." Dramatic pause. "And _I_ pick the music."

"Fine. Truck."

"Correct! Okay, you go next?"

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with P."

Erin sighed. "You can't spy 'Pointless Exercise', Daria – oh yes, I've been around your family long enough to pick some things up. Look, it's a long trip until we meet up with Aunt Amy, we can't sit in silence the whole time."

"There's nothing to talk about."

* * *

Quinn was outnumbered by half the Dirty Decade with only Burnout as her backup, and Burnout had just smoked a fat one a minute ago so she'd soon have _no_ backup, but she met their eyes and showed no fear.

"Suck your turf, I go where I _want_! Cos that's how I roll!"

"Yo, we 'bout to roll _you_ outta dis _world_," said Big Dee, the whitest guy who ever whited, before he fall over groaning because Hellion Wheels had kicked him in the crotch from behind.

"Hi Quinn! Your father and I needed a chat, and this can't really wait until you come home-" A glancing blow hit her in the ribs. "Do you _mind?_ This is a private conversation, fuckhole!" Headbutt.

"Mu-uuuumm! You're interfering with my fight!"

"Oh, right, sorry sweetie."

One vicious battle later ("you did your best, man," said Jake, giving a bleeding Two Quarters a pat on the back) and after Burnout had slumped into a quiet sleep, the Morgendorffers settled down for a conversation.

"Now, Quinn, we're not trying to make you conform or anything here, but a few days ago we received your end-of-year report. We've been busy with Daria but now we've had a chance to discuss things, and, well…" Helen searched her brain for a correct way of putting it. "You're unlikely to get into college with them."

"Unless it's Middleton," said Jake cheerfully. "I hear they take _anyone_ these days!"

"Snake, not helping."

"Huh." Quinn considered this. "But I could just _not_ go to college, right?"

"That's an option, yes, but that means you'll need to go straight into a job after school and some careers will be barred to you. Now that's fine if you want to do it. Have you thought about a job?"

Quinn's face went blanker than a hypnotised frog.

"Have you thought about what to do after school?"

Quinn stayed blank. "That's, like, in the _future_," she eventually said. "I don't have to plan yet, do I?"

"She has a point," said Jake. "Two years _is_ the future."

"I've only got two years left of school? All RIGHT!" Quinn punched the air, then stopped. "Oh wait, in two years I have to be a wage slave? SHIT! When did that happen? I figured that after school, I'd…" She trailed off and waved her hand about to symbolise 'stuff'.

"Ah." Helen headbutted Quinn. "Sorry, honey, but we need you to be incapacitated so we can safely tell you that you need to think about your future job opportunities and we're going to _help_ you do it. And if you don't accept help, I'll have to headbutt you again."

"That sounds like we're _forcing_ her to do it," said Jake dubiously.

"There's a moral grey area here, Snake, I'll tell you later."

* * *

DeMartino sat in his house, no lessons to play or homework to mark or Kevin to think about.

And sat.

And sat.

"I'M BORED."

* * *

Pennsylvania blurred past the car like generic scenery on a cartoon, but eventually, near the New York border, Erin had to stop for the night. The nearest Night Inn motel was picked and Daria was jollied out of the car against her will, being told: "We'll be meeting Amy tomorrow and there's somewhere that does pizza around here, I checked, and we should be able to get a good night's sleep with absolutely no problems whatsoever!"

In the very next place in the motel car park, two men were making a drug deal.

The dealers looked at them. They looked at the dealers.

Erin's inner saleswoman pushed her consciousness aside and said she had it: "Do you give a two-for-one deal?"

"No-"

"Alright, we might come back to you after we've shopped around-"

"_Yes_, we absolutely do that thing-"

"But we're not familiar with your product, I don't know if this will be worth the investment…"

By the end of it, Erin had bought a kilo of cocaine for fifteen dollars. "I didn't think that would work," she told Daria.

"Well, it did."

"Oh come _on_, Daria, not even a little bit of sarcasm?"

"It wasn't worth the effort. If you've been involved in one horrible situation that could kill or traumatise you, you've been in them all."

"Was that sarcasm? I can't tell."

"No."

* * *

DeMartino woke up at 5 AM and began to put his shirt on before he remembered he wasn't a teacher anymore.

"I DAMN WELL hope that everyone ELSE has this problem."

* * *

Tommy Sherman woke up at 5AM and started to get out of bed, before he remembered he wasn't a teacher anymore and that his bed had two hot ex-cheerleaders in it.

"Awwwww _yeah_."

* * *

The sun was rising when Jane arrived at Ashfield: rustic, remote, peaceful. Jane was mentally playing the _Friday the 13__th_ theme from the instant she saw it.

_Daria would've got that joke. Ah well. Just a few weeks, Jane-oh, best make the most of it_.

Ashfield's director, Violet O'Bloom – that was her _actual name_ – wafted over to Jane with an atmosphere of great calm and late-night wacky baccy, and began to take her over to her cabin. On the way, she expressed great envy for Jane's mother's current project.

"Do I envy her in Death Valley."

"Can you believe there are some people who wouldn't want to go there in July?"

"I know."

_Hrr. Daria, you are missed_.

O'Bloom opened the cabin door and showed Jane a vision of… well, her first thought had been 'hipsters' but she guessed hipsters didn't wear all-black ensembles and trendy, multi-coloured haircuts. But they were acting hip and having a snarky conversation. Wasn't that what hipsters did? What was a hipster anyway? It was just a general term of abuse for snarky people someone didn't like, right? Oh god, was she and Daria a hipster? Tom, sure, she was always vaguely certain he was one, but she always thought Daria was just…

Jane realised that O'Bloom had gone and someone had spoken to her ten seconds ago.

"I'm not a hipster!" she blurted out.

"Anyway, colour is not something you just fling around like a dog marking its territory," said Someone, ignoring her comment.

"Oh sure," said Jane with relief, "you do need to have a plan, but-"

"Do you _mind?_ We're _talking_."

_And now I'm mentally playing "High School Never Ends" and that is not a song anyone should have to listen to outside of Hell_.

* * *

Daria had sneaked out of the motel while Erin was still asleep and made her way to the car park. The dealer was back, with friends, and looked surprised to see her coming.

"Here." She put the cocaine brick on the ground and slid it over with her foot. "I knew you'd be back and, frankly, I wanted to shorten things for all concerned."

"Yeah? Well, that ain't good enough." He'd called in help and been pre-empted and, clearly, there was masculinity on the line here; he inflated as he spoke. "You _owe_ me for that stunt-"

"Dude, _please_, you're trying to front with Velma. It's _lame_. Let's take the brick and go already."

He relented, the situation against him – and because he'd looked in the girl's eyes and saw no sign that she gave a shit about what was going on. She just looked _tired_. No one should look like that in a shakedown.

Daria walked away and returned to her room, and when Erin asked where she'd been she just said "out".

* * *

DeMartino logged off the Pigskin Channel Message Board with a sigh. "Even TROLLING is boring today."

* * *

Quinn lay asleep and peaceful in her bed, looking like a little cherub with green-black dyed hair, a long-chewed dinosaur plushie by her side. Her mother crept in, every so slowly and peacefully, and then said

"**YOU FOUGHT THE LAW AND THE LAW WON!"**

Quinn shot upright like a film vampire and screamed like a film vampire who'd heard it was getting a role in the next Twilight film.

"Tough love, Killer – when people work for other people, they have to be up during… _weird_ hours. They also have to go to bed before midnight but we won't go that far, we don't want to cause any long-term damage."

"Workers have to _get up?_ Fuck! Maybe I was wrong, I _will_ study-" Helen gave Quinn a look and the girl sighed. "You coulda _pretended_ you believed me."

Helen laughed. "Ha, you wish! We'll let you search for jobs yourself today, but I'll warn you now: we'll be scanning the police band, so if you don't go to the local shops we _will_ know about it."

* * *

Meanwhile, in New York:

"I don't give a tinker's _cuss_ what you think about federal agencies and cooperation," snarled ATF Special Agent Flemming, getting into the NYPD Commissioner's personal space. "If the X-5 supervirus is sold to any foreign power or terrorist group, you can-"

Wait, no, sorry.

Meanwhile, somewhere _else_ in New York:

"And here we are!" Erin parked the car in a somewhat seedy part of the South Bronx (and being a seedy part of South Bronx is a _challenge_). "Aunt Amy said this was the best place to meet her."

Daria looked over at the dirt-brick club, with the sickly neon "Spanks For The Memories" sign and crude drawing of a woman with a whip.

Erin waited patiently for a sarcastic remark, and when none came she said: "Of course, it's the daytime, so only the _hardcore crowd_ will be here." Pause. "And _unemployed people_." Pause. "Eh? Eh? Hardcore and unemployed oh forget it."

The sound of sleazy techno stalked throughout the club, and under the dim lights perved a collection of pervs, dirty rainmacks and gimp masks and women squeezing into things they were a size too big for and a prominent traditional-values politician. In the middle of it all sat Amy Barksdale, working on a laptop and talking to a dirty-blonde woman.

"-and that's why I'm not allowed back into Luxemburg. _Daria, Erin!_ How's things?"

"Shit," said Daria.

"She's not lying," said Erin. "So-"

"Wait a second." Amy pointed to a couple. "Hey, Daria, is that man drinking wine from that woman's thong?"

"Yes."

Amy waited for sarcasm that never came. "You really are in a bad way," she said quietly. "Don't worry, we'll sort things out. You're among family." Amy nodded to the woman she was with. "See you around, Dallas."

"Oh I'd hope so," she smirked back.

Daria looked at Dallas. "Friend of yours?"

"Daria, ask no questions if you don't want the answer."

"Oh, she's a one night stand!" said Erin.

"Yes, Erin, thank you for that. C'mon girls, I've got a job to do filming a sewer-gator hunting party and guess who is assisting me!" Erin looked at her pleasantly. "It's you two."

* * *

Quinn entered the Junior 5 section of Cashman's and soon every security guard was flocking towards her.

"I want to ask about jobs," she told them.

"Come on," said the lead guard, "give us _some_ credit."

Quinn sighed and left the shop. All across the mall, security guards were guarding every shop she'd been into or even looked at. At the shops where she _hadn't_ been, guards were emerging as if summoned by a psychic signal (actually they'd been texted). Coming towards her were armed police from the LCPD.

"Hey Killer," said the lead cop.

"Fuck you, Fascist Pigdog," she said back.

"Do you mind leaving by your own steam this time? We're hoping to get an early lunch."

It went against everything she stood for but Quinn did what the policeman asked, because if she was arrested she couldn't keep looking for jobs and then her mother would do her cross headbutt. Still, things were going pretty well. She'd decided to look for work outside of Dega Street or anywhere that her parents had contacts, so she could prove that she was a hardcore mofo who didn't rely on anyone. And, of course, every normal shop thought she was going to break, burn, or steal something, proving she was a hardcore mofo that society couldn't handle. It was win-win!

Okay, it wasn't getting her a job application form or interview, but you had to pace yourself with these things.

* * *

The team were the embodiment of the Great White Hunters of late 19th century folklore, if those hunters had become fat and wore crap-covered Wellington boots and alright, they didn't look at all like Great White Hunters. But they _did_ have shotguns, and they walked around the sewers like they'd been doing it for years. Because they had.

"And when was the last time you saw an alligator down here?" asked Amy, training her camera on the leader; Erin tottered behind her, trying to hold a boom mike and her nose at the same time.

"Well, I haven't seen one _per say_ but I saw… _something_, two months ago. Something in the muck, dark and moving…"

Daria glanced at the muck and saw shadows.

"The gators are here, I know it. It may have been six years but I'll search another six if that's what it takes."

"And what will you do once you've shot one?"

"Shoot another one."

There was a splash up ahead and the hunters levelled their guns, but it was only a hunter falling in. By unspoken decree, he was sent downwind. That had been the most exciting thing that had happened in the last hour, but Amy said they'd do some editing and a soundtrack and that should sort it.

As Daria looked, the head of an alligator broke the scum. The rest of the animal followed, heading to the opposite 'bank' and emerging with a short snuffle. Pale white, blind, skinny and a mouth of razors.

Daria walked on and said to Amy: "Almost done?"

"Yeah. Damn it, I was so _sure_ there'd be something down here."

"Mm."

* * *

"…and then the shopkeeper pointed a _gun_ at me!" said Quinn with pride. "I'm just totally unemployable for those losers."

The Maleficent Eleven all cheered.

"Yeah, nobody's ever forcing _us_ one of these facisto-capitalistic jobs, man!" said Shane. "No offence, Angel."

"It's cool," called out Angel, wearing the Pizza King uniform and cleaning the table next to the gang's.

"That doesn't count, pizza's punk," said Quinn.

"It is?" asked Andrea.

"_We_ eat it, don't we?"

"ForGIVE me but wasn't the POINT of your MISadventure to FIND a job? So isn't this FAILURE actually a SIGN of FAILURE?"

"Ah—" Quinn's mouth stayed open as this hitherto unconsidered point hit her. "Oh. Hmmm. I guess. Shit, that makes it sound like… like the Man _wins_ this way. _Shit_."

"Dude, why are you standing here anyway?" Scarlett asked DeMartino.

"I am so BORED that I thought I'd FIND some of my more IDIOTIC students, in a MISerable attempt to see if HATE and RANTing would give me some MEAGRE JOY. A **FAILURE**!"

"You should go headbutt some twatbag," said Quinn absently. "That's always a good pick-me-up."

DeMartino headbutted her.

"That WORKED!" he said, smiling. "THANK you, Ms Morgendorffer!"

"No big."

* * *

Jane's opinion of Ashfield had been quite high when Daniel Dotson unveiled his paper plates on sticks and began talking to them about his art. Then it plummeted like a broken plane full of fatties when she realised he wasn't trolling to see who was gullible, this really was one of his artworks.

"But what was I thinking when I created a work that seems to have turned out both seminal and semiotic?"

"I can't believe I'm getting away with this?" asked Jane.

"Very amusing," said Daniel, actually as amused as Queen Victoria hearing about the French.

"Excuse me, Mr. Dotson?" called out another student.

"Please... Paris, isn't it? Call me Daniel."

"Daniel," she simpered. "I just want to say, I think you're the greatest living artist of our time."

"And not-" Jane remembered that Daria wasn't next to her anymore and spoke quieter. "And not just because I have no taste."

"I was wondering," asked some guy, "where do you get your inspiration?"

"My alimony bills," came a low mutter, and Jane went "AAAA!" and leapt sideways.

There was a brief silence, which Dotson filled with something that was so rambling and boring and purple-as-a-people-eater – Jane's brain started to tune him out after he said "in the pain of an arthritic's hobble". Instead, she occupied herself with staring at the woman who'd spoken: self-made tattoos on her arms, tight black jeans and tank top which showed a sculpture's dream, dark hair sweeping down to her waist, a bemused expression.

"Well, that's enough of the old windbag's ramblings for today," said Daniel, making Jane happy. "We'll pick up here tomorrow," he continued, pissing on that happiness.

"I'm sorry," Jane told the woman, "for a second I thought my friend Daria had teleported next to me."

"You wish," she smirked, and held a hand out. "I'm Alison."

"Jane." She shook her hand.

"Not very impressed with our Mr Dotson? Look at it this way: at least we'll never have to worry about him intimidating us with his talent."

"I dunno, his talent for speaking bull has me beat. Maybe he's doing a class on it?"

"This _is_ the class on it," said Alison, and Jane broke out into sniggers. Things were starting to look up.

* * *

It took a long shower but the taint of sewer was gone; Amy's footage was sent to the Sick, Sad Server; they'd had lunch in an authentic Irish pub run by eight-generation people who thought British soldiers were still occupying Dublin; now they were packing up Amy's stuff for the big trip.

Daria looked out the window. Black ATF vans had parked outside Amy's hotel and armed officers were massing at the door.

"See anything interesting out there?" asked Amy.

"No. Are we leaving now?"

"In a hurry, are we?" Amy smiled. "Nice to see you're getting into it. Oh, don't give me that blank face, missy, I've been seeing it since you were _born_. How's Tom, by the way?"

"We broke up."

Her aunt sighed. "Oh, honey. I know, things are getting close to rock bottom and you want to push your nearest and dearest away to punish yourself. You feel like you _have_ to, right? It's what you deserve. And they're better off without you anyway. You're worthless. Right?"

Daria didn't respond.

"Been there. Erin has too. Thing is, there's a good chance they'll come back. Did he say that if you wanted to take things up again, he'd be there? Ah, I saw that minor tweak of the eye, I know your tics. I thought so. Well, hold onto that. C'mon, we'll talk more in the car."

The woman left their room and entered the hotel's lift. The lobby had boot prints all over it and there were a few dark vans outside, but Amy had other things to think about, Daria was refusing to get involved at all, and Erin was too busy thinking _judas ju-daa-aaas judas ju-daa-aaas._

* * *

"Okay," said Andrea, going through the checklist. "So we need to find you a job where you can apply without being arrested; where they won't have a problem with you punching fuckers or drinking; where they won't have a problem with you headbutting fuckers; which will have at least a seven rating on the Looking Badass scale…"

"And where I don't have to do much hard work," said Quinn. "Or work."

"And can read porn," suggested Jackie.

"Oh yeah, good call. But where could we _find_ something like that?"

Steve walked past with a pizza.

"Hey, Steve."

"Hey."

"_Wait a minute!_" Quinn leapt to her feet. "I was so fucking stupid! Duh! _Steve!_ He has a job, he might know something about jobs!"

* * *

"We _know_ you had the X-5 when you arrived in New York," growled Flemming. "So if you don't have it now, either you've made the drop – and we're damn sure you haven't – or you have an accomplice. Now why don't you be a good girl and tell us where it is?"

"You gonna charge me with anything?" asked Dallas Grimes, infamous arms dealer and suspect in five murders. "Mmm? I thought not. You wanna let me go now or wait 'til my lawyer files wrongful arrest?"

Flemming's face clenched. "Agent Hurley? Give her another cavity search."

"Oh, _yum_."

She knew Flemming's rep, she'd be there for as long as he could legally hold her (and there may be a third cavity search). It didn't matter. She'd placed a tracer on that Amy's car: wherever the patsy went, she could track it and sneak the X-5 back out of her handbag. Smooth as silk.

* * *

"Well, it's a goodbye to the Big Apple unless anyone can see something really interesting going on."

Daria looked out of the car window. Up on a rooftop, someone in bright spandex was having a fight with someone in dark black plastic.

"No-"

Amy's phone rang; it was Erin, going _"Aunt Amy take a look at that roof over there!"_

_Shit_, thought Daria.

* * *

Two hours, a lot of filming, a frenzied update to , and an even more frenzied attempt at a snappy pun later, and the girls were ready to leave again.

"I still don't understand, if the Black Balrog wants to take over organised crime in New York, why does he dress up in a costume and have a super-name so everyone will know who to target?" asked Erin.

"Because he's a thicko," said Amy.

"Ah. I thought it'd be something like that."

* * *

Meanwhile, in Lawndale:

Quinn staggered back into the house, confusion like a rash on her face.

"Mum? Dad? Do security guards count as The Man?"

Helen and Jake paused in the act of playing Scrabble – Jake had got "tosspot" on a triple word score – and began to think this over.

"I guess it would depend on what they were guarding," said Jake. "If someone was guarding a beer factory, they're protecting _beer_, so that'd be okay."

"Now that's being relativistic and that's one degree removed from a compromise!" snapped Helen. "Punks don't compromise!"

"But Hellion, if someone doesn't guard beer _how will our beer be safe?_ It's a necessary evil!"

"Fine, but someone else would think it's a necessary evil for a _bank_ or, or a _senator_ to be guarded as well! And you'd have conceded ground to them!"

"A_ha!_ Senators and banks _are_ The Man, so if a security guard has to guard them… _The Man is making them do it!_ So they can't be The Man themselves!"

"You're forgetting The Ascent of The Man, the evidence clearly shows that there are _degrees_ of The Manhood going up in a hierarchy – a security guard would be at the lowest end but still-"

"_Muuuuum daaaad you're giving me a headaaaaaache!_"

"Quinn, it's rude to interrupt a philosophical debate."

* * *

The girls had finally left New York City proper and booked into a roadside motel. Amy had found that Rocky Horror was playing on the TV later, and an impromptu movie-and-snarky night was planned. ("But you know I'm not a virgin," said a confused Erin)

To Amy's amusement, her fling Dallas checked into the same motel shortly after.

"You're trying to get to DC? We're going there too! If you don't mind taking the long way round-"

"No, that suits me," said Dallas in a burst of honesty.

"Don't worry about rooms, Erin and I are heavy sleepers," said Daria.

"Was that- _Daria!_ Did you just make a sarcastic quip?" Amy smiled. "I knew you couldn't hold back forever, even in depression!"

"I wasn't being sarcastic. We sleep through Mum and Dad all the time."

"And you and Tom," said Erin. "Ha ha, made you blush."

"Of course. I thought I was much better at it than that."

Amy snorted and held out her fist. "_Knucks_."

* * *

"Thank you, Greg." Helen hung up her phone. "Alright Jakey, I concede – if every Black Flag member agrees with you, then I will too. Security guards _can_ sometimes be not-Man."

"Yeah! Go Snakey, go Snakey! Why did we talk about this again?"

"I had to check," said Quinn. "Steve said he could give me some work experience as a security guard if I gave him a slice of pizza." Her face fell like a miser doing tax returns. "Oh. He does do security work for Crewe Neck and that's full of _rich people_."

"No, no, this is a good thing," said Helen. "You've not only made a great step forward in identifying a career, you have an opportunity to gather intelligence on the enemy! I'm so _proud_ of you, honey!"

"And it was only a cheeseless pizza!"

* * *

As sunlight crept over the gutter, a sodden figure mumbled and opened a bleary eye. Like some mad scientist's creation that had gained life and was trying to ignore it, DeMartino made a half-hearted lurch and then went back down. His head felt like a wrestling match was going on in the frontal lobes. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was headbutting people who annoyed him, and then…

_"No one headbutts Tommy Sherman and gets away with it!" The jock took off one of his artificial legs. "Tommy Sherman's gonna kick you with his HANDS!"_

Oh. Yeah.

"Hey. You okay?"

DeMartino looked up to see Trent Lane standing over him, sleepy concern on his face. (Had he ever actually graduated or had he just forgotten to turn up to school again?)

"Ah, mister LA-" His head screamed in pain at his scream. "Mister _La_ne. You are awake sur_prising_ly early."

"Huh? No, I'm going to _bed_ early. Have to get my sleep patterns sorted for a concert."

"You… you make _money_ from _your_ music? As I re_call_, it was very… _acquired taste_."

"Yeah," said Trent happily. "Mr Morgendorffer's business model helped make us, man. I always knew I'd make money by singing about my inner torment. That makes me happy."

The ex-teacher stared in shock. "How _much_ money do you make from _wail_ing about inner _torment_?"

Trent told him and deep within the old man, a young Judas Priest fanatic rattled the cages and screamed about how he should have pursued his dreams instead of getting a job. (Deep within a young Judas Priest fan, a younger neo-hippie was telling them both to calm down and was told to shut his fucking mouth)

"How _hard_ is it to learn the _guitar?_"

"Learn?"

* * *

"Sick, Sad World has already done a Jersey Devil episode," said Daria. "Three times. And one of those times was a repeat but you redubbed the dates."

"You know that and I know that, but at least forty percent of the audience doesn't," said Amy. "We did a study."

"I don't see why I have to be bait."

"Well, I'm holding the camera and taser, Erin's holding the mike, and Dallas didn't want to come. Sorry, sprat."

And so Daria sighed her way through the forests of south New Jersey, a pork chop round her neck, muttering "wooo. Hello. I am dinner."

"Aunt Amy, what happens if the Jersey Devil comes after us instead?" asked Erin.

"We get eaten, I guess."

Meanwhile, behind them and carefully hidden, one of the ATF's finest hissed into a microphone: "No, pork chop. _Pork chop_. They have to be smuggling something in that."

* * *

"I don't know," said Jake, giving DeMartino an analytical once-over. "Is he really ready to be an opening act already?"

"Oh yeah," said Trent. "He has what it takes. He's got the passion, man."

"You've heard him play?"

"Well, not so much. Well, no. But he's got the passion, man."

Jake considered this a good point well made. "Hmmm. Maybe we should give you a stage name. Angry Ant, the Death-Martino-"

"MISTer Morgendorffer, do not EVEN bother to continue this INANITY, as if I'd actually DO what you SAY! You ARE NOT the BOSS of ME!"

Jake wiped the spit from his face. "You're _hired_!"

"Told you," said Trent proudly.

"I probably SHOULD learn to play-"

"Oh, don't be so old-fashioned," laughed Jake.

* * *

Things were going poorly with Quinn: she hadn't remembered to wear the spare security uniform and seemed confused on the very concept of it, and Steve had had to put a sticker saying "SECURITY" on her so everybody would know she was meant to be hanging around the mall. Then he had to stop her going "what _you_ looking at" to a passing police officer.

"See, the police aren't going to arrest security guards."

"So they tell you," said Quinn darkly.

"And the beer is… Quinn, the _beer_. On duty. You don't see the problem here?"

Quinn didn't, so Steve took out a can, popped the tab, and slouched while sipping it.

"_That's_ the correct position. Now you try. No, no, you're still doing it wrong, you're hunching over it and you should be slouching back, look, just copy this…."

It took ten minutes but Quinn got there in the end. It didn't bode well though.

* * *

"Two hours and nothing. I say nothing, the pork chop has been dripping down my shirt. That is certainly something."

"Ah, true. We'll just shoot more footage with the locals and splice that in."

"I don't mean to be rude," said Erin, "but does the Jersey Devil actually _exist_? Because if the show looked three times before-"

"Erin, don't kill Auntie's golden goose."

"It's strange, glimpses of the Devil were in an earlier episode," said Daria. "It looked just like the Mothman but coloured green."

"That's not strange, the crew at the time just faked- oh, right. Yeah yeah."

Behind them, in the shadow of the trees, Agent Noone called back into base: "Heading back now. I don't understand, they achieved nothing. What was this about?"

A noise came from above Noone and he looked up to see leathery wings and sharp teeth.

"What the-"

_"Noone, report. Noone? Noone, what's your status? Noone, can you hear us, respond!"_

* * *

And thus, on a day unlike any other, Jane faced a great and terrible threat: eating lunch with other human beings.

"I can't believe you talked me into this."

"You can't eat in your room forever," chided Alison. "Why go to an artists' colony if you're not going to mingle with your fellow artists?"

"That's like saying why go to a penal colony if you're not going to mingle with your fellow... I think I'll stop there."

"Come on, I know they'll warm up to you if you give them a chance."

Jane looked at Alison with a blank expression Daria would be proud of (but show no sign of such).

"And if I'm wrong, I'll buy dinner."

"You're on, sucker."

The two women recognised Paris, Jet, and Some Guy (they recognised his face anyway) from class, so they sat at that group's table. Stage One of Be Sociable had been completed, but Stage Two was going to the hard part: actual conversation. Alison went for the blunt trauma approach:

"How's everyone enjoying the colony?"

"I love it," said Jet. "It's so… freeing."

"And Daniel? That man is a _genius_," said Paris, going for a different sort of trauma. "He said my white-on-white painting was a stroke of genius."

Jane was about to ask how white-on-white could possibly work (and refer to imperial nudity in the process), when That Guy added, "I'll bet you two have explored all sorts of strokes together!".

Jet laughed, Paris blushed, Jane mentally redubbed everything the guy had said and ever would say in an Upchuck voice.

"Oh, well, I suppose genius does have its prerogatives _feisty!_" (he may not have actually said the last word)

"Well, I don't know if Daniel's a genius," said Jane.

The mood turned sour. "No offence, Jane," said Paris, in subtly offending tones, "but aren't you still in high school? How much can you know about art at this point?"

"Excuse me?"

"Paris, we all had to submit a portfolio to be accepted here," said Alison, playing peacekeeper. "I'd say Jane knows quite a bit about art."

"I'm sure you're right. I apologise." Paris turned to the others. "Are you guys ready to go?"

They agreed it was, and all three gave very insincere goodbyes ("feisty!"). Jane shrugged: "So, next time, how about we save time and just roll around in gravel?"

"I guess I owe you one," said Alison.

"You owe me _dinner_."

* * *

"I see him," said Steve into his walkie-talkie. "Quinn? See that guy over there? White male, hoodie, dye-blond. Got an eyeball that says he shoplifted. You want to try this?"

"Yeah, I got it." Quinn straightened up, ran over to the hoodie, and said: "Hey, Roland, it's Quinn from school! The pigs have _seen you_, leg it!"

* * *

The morgue was cold, but not as cold as Flemming as he stared down at the remains of another man he had been responsible for.

"One second," he whispered. "They got the drop on him and then they took him down in _one second_."

"Sir, we have confirmation that…" Bork looked away, unable to face the ice-cold rage and despair and regret of his leader. "Dallas Grimes was in town when it happened. This was someone else-"

"Or the three women in the woods."

"Sir?"

Flemming began to move, fast enough to almost outpace his guilt. "All three have been on the government radar for one reason or other. I want full recon of the senior Barksdale, find out if she had any illicit contacts in this state or any potential training; have someone, no, have _Hurley_ contact ex-CIA officer Brian Danielson and get everything possible about his ex-fiancé…

"And _inform_ Maryland's Superintendent Rawles that he's having a meeting with me ASAP."

* * *

"Oh, 'loitering threateningly', you want me to tell kids where they can and can't stand because _you_ feel threatened by how they dress and speak and the switchblade knives they're comparing, _get the fuck out before I twat you one!_"

"Yeah, I don't think this is working out," Steve told Quinn after the shopkeeper had fled.

"Why not?"

"Hmmm. I'm not sure where to start with this one. Wait, no, got it: security guards _do_ go and tell people where they can and can't stand. It's a way of guarding a place in a secure manner. That's why we're called security guards."

"I thought we just sat around doing nothing."

"Ideally, but if someone tells us to do our jobs we have to actually go and do them," explained Steve. "Otherwise we get fired and then have to work in a _harder_ job. This is where I've seen guards get it wrong."

"But do we have to… to…Look, I just can't tell threatening teenagers to move along, that goes against everything I stand for!" said Quinn, her tone pleading and her eyes full of despair. "What if someone found out? That's my street rep _and_ my soul down the crapper!"

Steve sighed. "I was trying to avoid this but now you're making me do the job, so I hope you at least view this rant as a significant metaphor-slash-allusion. But you came to me saying you wanted a _job_, one that you could use to support yourself even though your grades suck. You want to keep a job, you have to do the minimum. Because if you don't bother to hold down a job, you can't support yourself and what rep do you have then? Not a rep anyone's going to want."

Quinn was opening her mouth, so Steve quickly added: "And it's worse than being a sellout, because sellouts can buy their own beer and don't have to mooch off others."

Quinn shut her mouth. No one had ever said this to her before – nobody that mattered, or in a way that struck home. (She _hated_ when Shane wouldn't buy his own) It was something vast and terrible, something that spoke of complications, something that required skills she had not bothered to practice. And it was why, for as long as she could remember, there'd be patches that could last a whole season where money was tight; and why there were many nights when her parents would be hunched over stacks of paper and many days where they were barely seen because they were seeking clients; and why her mother had studied as many fields of law as she could and why her father was always trying something new with his marketing; and why cousin Erin had been lodging with them at all, and why she still was.

And why Daria often looked tired or downright miserable from all the fighting and arguing and work she did, but kept doing it anyway.

"All right," she said softly, surrendering. "I _don't_ want that rep."

"Okay then."

And that was why Quinn when up to a gang of wannabe-thugs playing with knives and said: "If you do that _outside_, we don't have to pay attention to you."

_Good choice_, thought Steve proudly.

"Yeah, and what if we don't?" said the leader before Quinn's knee made a quick visit to Mouthland.

"That," said Quinn. "But, y'know, a general beating, not just knees. That'd be stupid."

* * *

The ancient drive-in theatre outside of Lawndale had been left to decay but, aside from weeds and dust, it was in quite good shape. That didn't suit the feel of Spiral's Crap Future tour, so The Zon's anti-cleaners had been called in to spread some muck around and install a smog machine.

"We're going to play in a dump in our Mirage concert," Trent told DeMartino.

"That should be a FAMILIAR venue, surely."

"Uh, no, I mean an actual dump. It's cool, Mr Morgendorffer made sure we wouldn't break any health and safety laws. It's all legal. Uh, please don't tell anyone that. It'd spoil things for our fans."

DeMartino couldn't be arsed to think about this conversation, so instead he looked down at the guitar he was carrying. It was an old one, the paint fading, from that brief time when he'd first heard the Priest and decided he too could be hellbent for leather. Then he realised he'd have to learn how to play. (In his first year as a teacher, he thought his students were a case of narrative irony – by his second year, it was "fuck you irony")

He still knew vaguely how the guitar worked, much like his knowledge of nuclear reactors, but he wasn't sure it was going to work for an audience of hungry strangers. Problem was, every time he brought this up, either Trent Lane or Jake Morgendorffer or that bald guy on the drums would ignore him and blather about talent and passion. Timothy would've been proud to hear them, if he wasn't up to his eyeballs on sedatives in Brookside Care Home.

("N-N-N-N-N-Noooooo keeeeepwaaaaaayyyyyyy," shrieked O'Neill at the sight of a young person)

Still, if he caused a riot, it'd probably be good for Spiral's marketing plan.

"How LONG does this warm-up act HAVE to be?"

"Fifteen minutes. None of us have watches though, so we're taking you on trust here."

* * *

Superintendent Rawls of the Maryland State Police was a straight-backed, focused, respectful man now that he knew Flemming could see him. In the second before that, he'd been slouching around his office with a face like he was about to walk in dogshit.

"Agent," Rawls said, shaking his hand. "Always glad to give the Feds a helping hand."

"Cut the crap, Rawls, I've got the security of the free world at stake here and no time for bull."

"Oh, well, in _that_ case, what I actually think is-"

"Daria Morgendorffer is involved in a bioweapon smuggling case, and if any foreign power gets the X-5 supervirus then the President intends to _nuke them out_ once we know which. Understand? I need the Morgendorffer file."

Rawls handed over a weighty tome, bulging to escape its cardboard folder.

"We've been doing background research since Lawndale High was closed down," he said. "As far as we can make out, the little tyke's been responsible for forty percent of everything bad that happened there. Also various incidents in Lawndale, in Lawndale County, and one incident around Fremont. And then there's the information we got from Highland County in Texas."

"I've heard of Highland County."

"She was at the fringes there. I say 'was', she visited it a few weeks ago and oh lookie, a major gas leak that made everyone leave the north of the town and then _someone set the whole place on fire_. They're pretty sure it was one of her known associates but there's no witnesses or forensics. She obviously upped her game since then. Her parents are a bunch of fucknuts and you should see the sister, but the Dee here? Always _just_ under the radar, until about five or six months into Lawndale."

"And you never took action?"

"It took us a while to realise what was happening, and even then there was not enough evidence that will stand up in court."

"From what I've heard, that never stopped you in Baltimore."

"High arrest stats meant high bonuses. The stakes are higher this time, though. We want a knockout blow. Course, it is too late. The Lawndale Incident Committee's scientific advisor has already told us we're either at or _past_ the tipping point, and we should just try to direct the changes. The second advisor. The first one was taken away by some nice men in white coats after she investigated this Chinese restaurant and…"

"She encountered those strange energy fluctuations?" asked Flemming, curious. "What did she think was the cause?"

Rawls stared at him. "Huh."

* * *

The Hungry Palette was a licensed, law-abiding restaurant and would never allow a teenager to drink wine on its premises, so Jane had ordered some cranberry juice as a cover story. It was her first experience with the stuff – Alison had cajoled her – and it was alright, even if it did smell like the zombies of grapes.

"God, I envy you, Jane," said Alison. "To have all that talent and focus at your age."

Jane came close to blushing. "Oh, come on."

"I wish I could be in high school again, knowing what I know now."

"Hey, you wanna go to the high schools in _my_ town, I'm happy to swap!"

"I'm tipsy, not brain-dead."

"But seriously, you're doing exactly what I want to, making it on your own as an artist."

Alison sighed. "Trying to, anyway."

"Hey, you'll do it."

"So will you." The two of them clinked glasses. _"_Little more?"

" Why not?"

Alison poured away. "You and your future, me and my so-called career, I guess we've each got something the other would love to have."

"Personally, I'd like the wine bottle," said Jane, who hadn't noticed the look Alison gave her.

* * *

The audience descended on the venue, like a great wind had blown through a particularly smelly rubbish dump. Piercings and dyed hair and leather and body odour abounded, and three friendly fights had already broken out.

And out went DeMartino onto the stage, seeing all the glass bottles in the front row and his mind screaming that he better get this right, he had only one shot at this-

The guitar sounded like a cat being exorcised.

"Oh FIDDLEsticks."

* * *

"The situation is graver than I ever thought." Flemming's composure was starting to slip. "Her acts of devastation have been escalating and now she's operating with professionals. It might not just be Dallas Grimes we have to worry about: at least she has profit as a motive and her foreign friends have military goals, but if this young harridan got her hands on the X-5…"

"Have you considered an extrajudicial killing?" asked Rawls.

"We want to track Dallas to her buyer, wrap up the whole ring – but I'll have to inform the cabinet just in case…" Flemming pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling more tired than he'd ever been. "We have to stay on this. We can't afford any more complications."

* * *

Jane could really get used to drinking wine. Maybe Trent would lend her his old fake ID when she got home. Wine, a friend, lounging around in friend's cabin looking at art – all she needed was junk food and Sick, Sad World. (_Oh, Daria. I hope things look up soon._)

"These pastels are great."

"Thanks," said Alison. "I wish the galleries felt the same way."

"They're nuts."

"I knew you'd get what I'm trying to do." She held up the Grand Bottle of Temptation. "Top that off?"

"Nah, I'd better call it a night. I get cranky if I don't get my usual 12 hours."

"Come on, it's still early." Alison gave a small smile. "I'm sure we can find something to do to amuse ourselves."

"Well, that's where the whole sleeping thing factors in," said Jane, before the primordial ancestor of all yawns came out of her. "I rest my case."

She started to move but Alison gently took her by the arm. "Now I can't let you walk home in your condition. I'm going to have to _insist_ that you lie down."

"So now you _do_ want me to sleep."

Without Jane quite registering it, Alison's left arm had taken her by the shoulder and fingers had started to trace up her neck.

"I promise not to kick you out of bed in the morning." She smirked. "Well, unless you're snoring."

"Boy, are you in for-" And then words died on Jane's lips as she realised what was going on. "Oh god."

* * *

The situation was bad. It was very bad. Heart pounding like a jackhammer and vision going white and fingers gone spastic and the utter _fear_, and it was in the middle of it all that DeMartino recognised Shane in the front row, one of the worst students he'd ever had-

"Hey," said Jake, entering the venue, "I just got here, so how's Ant working ou-"

"**ARRRG YOU TOTAL FUCKER LEARNING HISTORY YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT HAPPENED FIVE MINUTES AGO BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO STUPID TO LIIIIIIIIIVE"**

There are moments and people that define a style, a time, a movement; to be there at the start, to see the dawn of an icon, is a priceless experience. As the guitar snarled like the chorus of nine hells and the madman on stage unleashed a rage that could shatter worlds, Jake was transported back to the very first time he'd heard the punk, the first song on the first LP that showed him what he'd been missing and what he needed to be. The first audiences for the Pistols, the Clash, the Ramones: this must have been how they felt.

"**HOMEWORK HA AMAZED YOU COULD SPELL YOUR FUCKING NAME I WASTED MY LIFE ON YOUR WORTHLESS CORPSE"** and then DeMartino just screamed **"AAAAAAAAAA" **for two minutes without stopping.

And every lighter was held up to light the night.

* * *

"You hear something?"

"Ah, it's Lawndale, it's always like this." The ATF man gave a satisfied nod and put the cash in his pocket; he handed the folder of photocopies to the larger man. "There you go. Your wife and her travelling partners, it's all in there. The amount you're paying extra, she must've pissed you off big."

"She certainly did get cute."

He'd taken most of the risks in getting the X-5 virus out of that army lab, and she'd run off with it the instant he fell asleep – slashed his tyres too. Cute. Muddy Grimes hadn't trusted Dallas to be loyal but he damn well trusted her to be afraid of ripping him off. She must have forgotten who he _was_. What he did to people who screwed him over.

"What the hell name is Morgendorffer?"

* * *

Things were getting very, very bad, and very, very fast, and the situation was nothing like Jane had ever had to deal with before. Her initial reaction was to run very fast and her second was to simply back away, but Alison's arm was still around her and either option would be rude. The wrong kind of rude. It was out of context, the first sight of the Spanish floating up to the Aztecs.

"What's the matter?" asked Alison. "I'm not your type?"

"Well, my type have penises, so unless you've been keeping a really big secret…" Sarcasm, at least, was still her friend.

Alison laughed. "Well, I haven't heard it phrased quite like that before, but… Oh. This is your first time with a girl? Well, no wonder you're nervous-"

"Alison, read my- Hold that thought." Jane turned her head so she was actually facing Alison. "Now read my lips. I like _guys_."

"And hanging out with bisexuals in their bedrooms after they buy you dinner," smirked Alison.

"Hey, I didn't know you were bi and now I say that I realise I should have known it long, long ago, if I put you in an identity parade and said 'pick up the one that looks stereotypically bisexual', you'd be picked over someone having a multi-gender threesome and that's _pretty damn bi_. Where was I? Oh yeah. Not gay or bi, and dinner was a bet."

Alison was still smirking, and something about that reaction rattled Jane. "Sorry baby, but I never hit on straight chicks."

"What, you smirk them into submission?"

The smile went away. "Okay. That was wrong of me. This is new and you hadn't admitted it to yourself yet."

"You really believe this," said Jane, and that made her feel slightly faint; they were past the point of a joke or a mistake, and Alison must have had experience with this and she wasn't show any hint of doubt. Could she still be wrong? Jane knew people did repress their sexualities, that people could go for decades before realising the truth. And then-

Well, she'd never _really_ had success with a guy. A few brief flings like Pat. Months with Tom but it fizzled out, and they never became seriously intimate; compare that to him and Daria. It had been a while since she remembered searching for a fella. And then there was Daria; Jane's first words, almost, to her had been "let's make out" and wasn't that an odd joke to lead with? Wasn't she closer with Daria as a friend than she had been with Tom as a boyfriend?

And then there was Amy Barksdale who she only recently had been able to _speak_ around and had been so obsessed with. And drawn pictures of. Dirty pictures, posted on Rule 34. Because the whim had struck her, she'd wanted to practice that sort of art and the idea had seemed funny. Or that's what she'd told herself.

So there was all that. And she recognised Alison was attractive, and they had been getting on so well and she had let her buy dinner and went back to her place, right? So it could be. But then why was Alison's close presence making her the wrong kind of nervous? And wasn't she an open-minded girl? Unconventional, experimental? That's how she prided herself. Surely she could admit to being bisexual or even gay. Surely. Or was she more 'normal' than she thought?

"Jane?"

A low groan came out of her mouth. "I have no idea right now."

"You're opening up," said Alison gently. "I can help."

"Yes, I can certainly tell you want to help."

"Okay, okay. We can go slowly."

"That's still too fast. I'm sorry, I'm just… This is going too fast. Can-"

Alison kissed her then; gently, but still a kiss, still a tongue brushing on hers.

Jane moved then, breaking free of her hold. "That's _definitely_ too fast."

"Sorry, sorry!" Alison looked bashful. "I thought that might help relax you-"

"Yeah, no." Jane took a deep breath to calm herself. "I, look, can we come back to this when I'm not tired and half-drunk? I need time to think."

"Sure, baby."

Jane left Alison's cabin and walked back to hers, unsure if she wanted to walk or if she wanted to start running, feeling betrayed and not sure why.

* * *

When DeMartino woke up, he was in a derelict, condemned building.

"Hey man, you're at my house," said Trent's voice. "You okay? You've been out of it since performing."

"How did…" It hurt to _think_.

"Well, after forty minutes you passed out in mid-song, and then we went with some of our angrier songs to fit the mood you'd created, and then…." The sound of helicopters rumbled through the house. "Well, then we finished and this riot was going on, and Mr Morgendorffer told us to flee because the National Guard were imposing martial law again."

"Ah."

"Mr Morgendorffer wants to know if you'd like to become a headline act."

* * *

They'd been driving for a few hours, Amy saying something about a haunted house in Virginia or something. Daria hadn't listened.

"So," said Amy, her eyes on the road, "you get anything out of this trip, sprat? Or do you just go along with it because it gets you out of Lawndale? Be honest."

"The second one. But I always want to get out of Lawndale, so I wouldn't read too much into it."

"We all need to get away sometimes. You're improving though, even if you don't think so. Me and Erin, we've both noticed." Amy paused. "And we've also noticed you seem like you don't want us to run into anything. When you've been on trips with me before, you've always hoped to see something."

"I hear some uncool losers don't want to be eaten alive."

"Bull, sprat. It's not that." Daria wasn't talking. "Okay, let me know if I get this right. You've recently been through some really weird situations. The last one went very bad. You're afraid if anything else odd comes along, it'll go bad. I know how that feels; I've been there myself. I can tell you about it."

Daria stared out at nothing. "That's not it. I just don't want to deal with them anymore."

"Maybe you don't have to deal with."

"I always do. I always do, and look what happens. I can't do that anymore."

"We can stop the trip, Daria. We can go somewhere else. Somewhere more normal."

Daria closed her eyes. "Please."

* * *

They'd been driving for a few hours, following Amy's car. The radio filled the car, a huge finger pointing to the lack of conversation. By this point, however, neither Erin or Dallas would speak first because that would mean they'd _lose_.

Erin gave in first. "Nice weather."

"Yes," said Dallas.

Long, uncomfortable pause.

Desperate for something in common, Erin asked: "Do you like peanut butter sandwiches?"

"Not really."

_Damn_.

* * *

Daniel Dotson was talking again, and through the might of her Truth-Detection Powers, Jane realised it was something like "let's all talk about _me!_". She ignored it and carried on with her painting. It was turning out a mess – discord everywhere, no guiding thought.

She left the class late, the last person out with Alison. The older woman took her by the hand.

"Don't worry, nobody will see us. Feeling okay?"

Jane didn't actually feel anything from the contact. "I dunno."

"Aww. Come on, let's go talk somewhere. Just talk, I promise."

"Mmm."

Alison pulled her closer as they walked. Jane felt a vague sense of unease, and then confusion about why she felt only that. And then depression that she could only feel that.

She wrapped her arm around Alison's waist in the hope of feeling more.

* * *

"So, we're just going to _fly_ to Washington and cut the road trip short?" Erin looked put out. "We could have done this from the start."

"It's the journey that counts," said Amy. "Anyway, we're in Virginia now, I know people who can watch our cars while we're away. Remember 'Auntie' Kelly? She can do it, as long as you don't mind leaving your keys behind."

"Oh, the person you know who has a normal job!" Erin started to smile. "I like Kelly!"

"Yeah, she has a normal job." Amy shook her head. "She could've been one of the greats of Fortean journalism, and now she works in a shop. Retail's gain is Bigfoot's loss." She emerged from the sadness and turned to Dallas: "Sorry, but unless you want to come to DC early-"

"Oh no, that's no trouble at all, hon."

"You're staying quiet, Daria," said Erin.

"I couldn't think of anything to say that was cutting sarcastic."

* * *

Kelly was a middle-aged, frizzy-haired blonde woman in quite sensible clothes, a normal look that was ruined when she high-fived Amy and they chanted "KEEP WATCHING THE FRIES!". A load of esoteric chat about the Good Old Days was held, which Daria avoided by lurking with Kelly's teenaged son:

"School sucks," grumbled the eighteen year old metalhead. "You?"

"School's closed."

"_Cool_."

It was a very unimportant and dull scene from Daria's POV. From Flemming's POV, it was quite important because he received a panicked phone call from his agents saying that their targets had swapped cars and had been lost.

"We may need to contact Homeland Security," said Agent Hurley.

"This is too important to risk them ballsing it up." Flemming sighed. "Unfortunately, you're still right. Make the call."

* * *

"I'm here for Brittany Taylor's party."

Quinn, sat outside Crewe Neck on a beanbag chair, looked up from her Muck & Rage mag. The girl before her did look suitably popular and attractive, but there was that little hint of caution in her eyes…

"Got a name?"

"Tiffany."

Quinn went with the standard-issue made-up surname. "Tiffany Duke?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck off."

'Tiffany' duly fucked off. After a minute, Steve – watching this whole affair from afar – slouched over to Quinn and tossed a beer can at her; Quinn caught it as it came down.

"You're really getting the hang of this," said Steve. "I'm gonna start putting you on bigger duties _and_ I'll let you have the taser, as long as you remember to go 'kksh' into the radio before talking."

* * *

Daria had bought a cheap, trashy techno-thriller book and a red pen at the airport, so the first hour of the flight was great fun. In the second hour, she started to drift back into her private thoughts. To her surprise, she actually had some: she was vaguely irritated that Amy's casual fling was part of a road trip that was supposed to be about _her_.

For the last few weeks, her thoughts had been bleak and focused on her faults and pointlessness, and when they hadn't been about that there'd been nothing, her mind a blank void. Nihilism had been a comforting blanket. More and more, she was thinking about other things. She was missing Jane and Tom, really missing them, not just having a pain in her chest but thinking – when she bothered to think – that everyone around her had to go.

It was the lack of Lawndale. Erin had been right, getting out of town and away from all of the reminders of her screw-up was helping. She knew, however, that she'd be going back soon enough. And she knew that she could never trust herself to take any action ever again. She needed to detach. Avoid the world except for a few people, don't try to intervene or take a role.

That was not the way her parents had raised her but this was just another thing they'd gotten wrong.

For a brief second, Daria wondered if she should have done what Grandma Barksdale had wanted all along, but she squashed that thought simply out of sheer _hate_ and nothing more.

* * *

Defending the nation from external and internal attack was a great responsibility, as Homeland Security Investigations never tired of telling people in obnoxiously loud voices. Their suits were designer labels, their computers had that new-keyboard gloss, their lips curled up when they saw an agent of somewhere that wasn't Homeland Security; Special Agent Loeb had a mullet and his whole manner and body language told you that he thought a mullet must be the height of male fashion because _he_ had one.

Loeb's command and control room was dark, the lights dim to the point of being off and the main illumination came from the dozens of computer screens and the wall-spanning monitor that showed all current Homeland ops in the US. Every agent was getting severe eyestrain from this bad lighting but if it looked like that in the films, it was damn well going to look like that in real-life too.

"We know their flight, we know their hotel, we know all their potential contacts; the minute they land to the minute they hand it over, they're ours," smugged Loeb. "And then you guys can go back to chasing down moonshine or whatever it is you do."

"I wouldn't get overconfident," said Flemming, every facial muscle more tense than a cow at an Argentine barbeque. "This gang has already slipped surveillance twice and killed a good agent, and Ms Grimes alone-"

"Slipped _your_ surveillance." Loeb yawned. "Don't worry, Flemming, daddy's here now. We'll even let you… Flemming, what is your woman doing?"

As Loeb had been talking, Agent Hurly had snapped a rubber glove onto her right hand. "My mind wondered for a second," she said, staring at Loeb's rectal area.

"Sir!" barked an interchangeable, steamed-cleaned-and-pressed Homeland agent. "Plane is landing; all TSA agents at Washington International have been informed of their target, we'll be aware of them asap!"

* * *

"We've got the updates on the watch list."

"Oh god, fifteen pages again. Cut it down to the Arabic names…"

* * *

"How you even _kept_ this task is beyond me," sneered Loeb. "Oh wait, no it isn't, we all know how you're the Clinton's pet law enforcer-"

Agent Bork would not have believed it if he hadn't seen it: Flemming just standing there and taking crap. But that was Homeland for you. Yes, that was Homeland all over.

(Hurly seemed to be restraining her own hand for some reason)

"Well, it's in the proper hands now, Flemming."

"Sir! _The targets are out of the airport, they somehow bypassed all our agents!_"

The corners of Flemming's mouth twitched upwards.

* * *

"There sure were a lot of policemen about," said Erin, as the four women arrived at their hotel. "I wonder why?"

"The global summit starts tomorrow," said Dallas. "There's going to be a lot of foreign big-boys around."

"Oh, you follow politics?"

"I sometimes run into foreign politicians through work."

"There's a surveillance van outside the hotel," said Amy.

"How do you know?" asked Dallas, a slight tremor in her voice.

"I work in trashy TV tabloid journalism, I _know_ the signs of a surveillance van. Look, I'll prove it-" She walked back to the van, banged on it, and yelled "PIZZA!"

The door opened and an eager man in a uniform came out. Once he realised what he'd done, he ran back in and the van sped off with loud swearing coming from the back.

"I got caught out like that, back when I was a young Turk and Sick, Sad World was following some banker around in case he was Illuminati. What was the name of the security guard who busted us? Reeve, Cleeve, something like that."

* * *

The useful thing about being betrayed by your own wife and partner in arms-dealing? Every contact she had was a contact of Muddy's too. He'd left a call with some of the usual suspects in Washington and lo and behold, she'd told them she was heading to DC early.

That was quite handy. Muddy had been planning to interrogate that Tom Sloane boy to find out where Ms Morgen-whatsit was. This would save him some time.

Rich dick would never know how close he'd come.

* * *

"Hotel One is compromised, and if they're aware we're onto them we can't expect anything useful from the bugs in their room." Loeb's voice was shaky; in one hour, the world had cut his feet out from under him. "We're going to need more plainclothes to track them than previously-"

"I can spare a few men," said Flemming.

"No!" Loeb calmed down. "No, this is our jurisdiction. You're only _advisory_."

"I'd _advise_ that if you insist on ignoring us, at least contact the FBI or MPDC."

"We can handle this, thank you." At least Loeb sounded like Loeb believed that. "This Morgendorffer gang is a truly dangerous operation. This Daria hellion must have had some training. Interrogate her school principal, this O'Neill. He must have known _something_-"

"There's no point to-"

"_You are not in command here, Flemming!_"

And that was how a heavily armed team from Homeland Security raided a psychiatric home.

* * *

"And then, I'm not making this up, Ms Barch started to beat them up with her crutches. I'm pretty sure Daria hadn't planned that but it was one of the most epic things I have ever seen and ever will see."

Jane was back in Alison's hut. It just made sense, right?

"I think I saw that on YouTube," said Alison. "Someone had put a death metal soundtrack on it. And then another person put Mortal Kombat's theme song on it."

"Yeah, that was Tom. It's a good pick-me-up."

Jane was lying down, her head in Alison's lap. She'd been guided there. It had felt a bit weird but the wine had calmed her down.

"Don't take this the wrong way, sweetie, but you do talk about Daria and Tom a lot. How often do you think about your own desires?"

"I do? I haven't really noticed."

Alison had started to stroke Jane's hair, and Jane wasn't sure when she'd started it. "In your shoes, I'd look at this camp as your chance for me-time. Get to know what you want."

"No bias here!"

"Oh, I'm biased." Alison smirked, a little glint in her eye.

"I. Ah. Hmm." Jane took a deep breath and when that didn't work, she took a deep gulp of wine. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I mean, okay, I'll try…" She waved her hand in a expression of vagueness. "Something. Nothing too far! But something. I dunno."

Alison took hold of Jane's hand and moved it elsewhere.

"I can think of something," she whispered.

* * *

And late into the night, in her hotel room, Daria stared at the news stories from CNN.

"…and a breaking news story from Maryland, we're being told Homeland Security have been viciously interrogating a patient in an insane asylum-"

"To be fair, he was on the no-fly list – no, that doesn't make sense. Hmm.

"Makes a change from hiring them. Yes, that works.

"As opposed to that touchy-feely New Age type of interrogation.

"And it turned out he did know more than them."

Daria smiled; a proud smile, a triumphant smile.

* * *

Jane woke and everything was messed up.

* * *

"When you said you wanted to visit the Smithsonian – not that I'm complaining, Daria, okay, I am," admitted Amy.

"The National Postal Museum is a Smithsonian museum."

"This is a trick in some way, isn't it?"

"I once bet Jane that a room full of stamps would be slightly more boring than our Maths class. I have ten bucks riding on this."

The Museum loomed before them: large, grey. Very grey. A grey that bleached into the soul.

"I love you very much," said Amy through gritted teeth. "Let's go."

* * *

Operational command was in chaos; Loeb and his senior men had never had a chance to sleep, not after Secretary Napolitano had _personally_ come round to yell at them for beating up a crazy man. Flemming had slept, briefly, but remained around, tense and expectant. His entourage were helping the situation.

" 'Homeland Dick-curity', according to the Washington Mirror," said Hurly in a loud voice, holding the paper _just_ at the right angle for everyone to see the front page.

"Baltimore Sun is going with Loonygate," said Bork.

"Play nice," said Flemming's voice, his eyes saying "DOOO HO HO HO".

"_MOVEMENT!"_ barked a Homeland watcher. "The gang have dispersed – Morgendorffer and Barksdale are at the National Postal Museum, Grimes heading for the embassies, and Chambers at… Cashman's, apparently."

Bork's mouth gaped in shock. "There's a National _Postal_ Museum?"

"Get strike teams to all – wait, no, we need to think…" Loeb was bloodshot and unshaven and hadn't showered (that had been true before the all-nighter, sadly). Thinking looked like it had left the building and was halfway down to Philly. "They want to divide our attention, that's why they've done this, so one must be trying to make a buy, the person least likely to… _Tactical to Cashman's!"_

* * *

The internet was alive with rumours of a great new musical talent, a paradigm shifting force that no company-made pap could stop. Jake had made _sure_ of that, and then added even more bait to the overweighted hook by putting the first five seconds of DeMartino's set on Youtube. It was currently a top trending story on BBC, Al-Jazeera, CNN, and Russia Today (it was a really slow day for news).

DeMartino was fucking livid, because the internet was something students looked at instead of _doing their fucking work_. (Jake recorded the rant: "We have your first single!")

"The word's out, and the word is that the new big thing is happening tonight in Ashfield, opening the next Mystic Spiral gig! We'll have the hardcore from across the state! The media! The pigs! Maybe even people who live in Ashfield!" Jake paused, staring into space with a smile for a full twenty seconds before DeMartino coughed. "_I'm saying nothing, fascist_ – oh, sorry D-Man, your cough reminded me of my old m… never mind."

Trent had been gently slumbering in the corner until the word "Ashfield" reached his frontal lobes. "That name sounds familiar. I think someone I know is there." The twin forces of narrative and basic human memory beat down on him, but failed: "_Someone I know is there/Someone I used to care_…"

"That is a REALLY annoying HAbit…"

Jake held up a hand for him to stop. "Hey man, don't tire yourself out so soon."

* * *

Homeland Security's finest (in holding big guns) stormed Cashman's with sound and fury, tearing through every inch in their attempt to find their target.

At the other end of the mall, a bag-laden Erin thought _I wonder what that noise is? _on her way out.

* * *

"I'm bored," said Daria, "but only a mild type of boredom, like the queue for cinema tickets. I was expecting a more depressing, embarrassing boredom: the type you get from bad action films trying to do dramatic, comedic, romantic, or indeed any scenes that don't involve exit wounds and how to cause them."

"I'm the angry type of bored, the one you get when queuing to pee," said Amy.

"Now if I had that attitude, I wouldn't be able to win this bet - hang on." Daria looked over at a sign for an exhibit on the Pony Express. "That says it compares 'Romance versus Reality'. I like where this is going."

"Didn't you want to be bored?"

"Aunt Amy, if I have to choose between money and being cynical, it's the cynicism every time."

"Ah, sticking with your ideals. How… _romantic_."

"Language."

* * *

There was a tight ball of sick deep within Jane's stomach. She could feel it every second, spreading through her guts and up into her throat. Her eyes stayed down, in case she might have to see another person looking at her.

This was not the way it was supposed to go. She'd heard of the first time being disappointing, quite loudly when her brother Wind's first wife had visited, and every so often in snatched whispers in the school locker room. Disappointment had been expected and prepared for. _This_ was the same feeling she'd had back during the track team, once she realised what she'd been party to – that feeling of having made a mistake, an obvious one, one you were ashamed to be part of.

Jane hadn't felt it for long, not once she'd have to fight; defiance and rage took precedent then. They couldn't help her this time. Who would she be angry _at?_ Alison? Herself? Surely not Alison. It had been Jane's own decision.

She felt unsure as she thought it, but that had to be ducking the issue. Her fuck up. No other target for the disappointment that made everything slow, heavy, and grey. (What would Daria say?)

She wanted to go home and have someone tell her things were okay.

* * *

Quinn had been up at an hour that normal human beings were up, and changed into her immaculate security uniform (or it had been immaculate until she'd stuck badges and safety pins over it and scribbled "DON'T MESS" on the chest). She was ready to go out and fuck cunts up, but this time for money!

"You don't get money, you're just on work experience," said Steve. "You get paid in, y'know, experience."

"Oh. Can I fuck cunts up anyway?"

"I guess."

Quinn seriously menaced anyone who looked like they were going to improperly park in _her_ car park.

Her parents turned up after an hour of this, watching with approval and muttering to each other. Finally, Jake approached the two security guards.

"So Killer, thought about what you want to do after school?" he asked.

"Security guards are _paid_ to _beat up annoying people_ and _drink beer!_"

"Good thinking, kiddo! Well, your mother and I were talking, and since we need security for tonight's Ashfield gig, how would you and Steve like to do it? Get a taste for the harder stuff!"

"This is short notice," said Steve. "I can do it but I want compensation for all the porn I won't be masturbating to."

"Done. (_Eww-www-www_.)"

"You trust me to guard one of your gigs?" Quinn felt something deep inside, a sense of pride she hadn't felt since she'd won her first three-on-one fight. She wanted to speak, to thank her parents for this much trust, to thank them for seeing her do something and believing that she could do it.

But that would make her look wussy in front of people, so she punched her dad instead.

"Awwww, you're welcome, hon." He then hit her back.

Helen, watching the scene, wiped a tear away (and then had to hit everyone).

* * *

"We can't have lost- how did-" Agent Loeb was disintegrating before their eyes. "Chambers must have been the diversionary, trying to make us think the others were, yes, that's it, so where else is-"

"Sir! We've just eyeballed Grimes meeting with one of the Iranian embassy staff, this could be-"

"Tactical _now!_"

Flemming coughed. "Grimes won't have the X-5 on her at the first meet, it's likely with-"

"_YOU ARE NOT IN COMMAND HERE!"_

Flemming said nothing to Loeb, but gestured for Bork and Hurly. Out of earshot of others, he said: "Do _we_ have anyone in DC that can be re-tasked?"

"Agent Nakahara came off the Senate moonshine case yesterday, sir."

"Contact her and have her watch Morgendorffer and Barksdale. One or both of them may retrieve the X-5 for Grimes. We'll inform Loeb once we have something – no, really, stop smirking, Hurly."

* * *

The camp was coming alive and it was harder to avoid people, but Jane had had practice at avoiding people. Eighteen years of being the outcast, what was a few hours? And maybe she deserved it this time. She'd done something stupid –

She heard someone talking. Alison.

Alison could help. She must have experience with this sort of thing. She could say why it had gone wrong. She could tell Jane what to do.

Another person talking. Daniel Dotson. Jane would wait until he'd gone away.

She looked and saw Dotson and Alison-

Oh.

* * *

Mr Nassiri had told Dallas he'd meet her in a public restaurant. To be fair to him, Pizza Forest was public and presumably counted as a restaurant. As soon as the two sat down, men and women in large squirrel costumes sang "Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream!" at them with vicious intent _for a whole minute_.

"It builds character," the Iranian told her. "I go here every day. A man who can stand this is a man who will not be afraid of death."

"I'm sure you're not afraid of anything," purred Dallas.

"Please take your foot off my genitals area."

"A man who likes to get straight _into it_, eh? I like that." Her eyes became even more heavy-lidded than normal. "The X-5 is in the city and up for sale. Give me a good enough bid, I won't even bother to ask the Chinese…"

"I'm authorised to give you three million dollars."

Someone pulled up a chair. "That sounds good," and Dallas's blood froze when she realised who was speaking. "Could sound better. Five million, maybe?"

"I didn't know you were in this deal, Mr Grimes. Who are your friends?"

Dallas allowed herself a quick glance and oh shit, Muddy had six men from the damn Blute mob. She knew the names of all six, knew a little too much about how two of them dealt with 'problems' and where they buried them. However pissed Muddy was, he still wouldn't do anything in _this_ public a spot but he had her boxed in, she'd be leaving with them, and once they were away and she'd given up the X-5-

"_Row row row your boat"_ sang the squirrels, killing the mood at point-blank range.

"Merrily, merrily, merrily-" sang Little Ricky, a man who nailed cats to doors as a 'bonus'. When Muddy stared at him, he protested: "Hey, man, they're just doin' their job."

The squirrels eventually slunk away, allowing the criminals to continue their thing.

"I can get you an extra million but that's as much as we can transfer without alerting your authorities," said Nassiri. "You'll just have to share."

"Not a problem," said Muddy, and Dallas tried to ignore the implications. "Half now, half on delivery."

"I'll begin the transfer to…. Whose account?"

"Mine."

* * *

The virus was still in Amy's handbag and only she knew that. He had to keep her alive until then. She had time to think of something…

"Jane!" Alison had her arms out for a hug but the teenager stepped back, confusion and anger and hurt fighting for control of her face.

"I saw you getting quote friendly unquote with Toulouse le Dreck, what's going on there? You don't like him, you _know_ how many students he's gone through, so… I don't get it. Please, I don't get this."

Alison looked sympathetic, like she had before. "If things were different, I'd say he's not so bad really but, yeah, he is. But now he owes me one." She waited for a response. "A man who knows a few gallery owners owes me one."

"Oh. And you have to do it that way? _Really?_ How long for, because I thought—I thought-"

"Come on, Jane. Don't take it so seriously." It took a second but Alison realised she'd said the wrong thing. "Let me-"

"No! No, I get it. I think I see how the art world works. I see some other things too."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, broken by Alison throwing her hands out and accusing Jane of making a big deal over nothing. And that was that.

* * *

"Well," said Daria, "I'm glad to see that in real life, the riders _did_ have to go through horrible weather and deprivation. It makes me happy."

"That's my girl."

Daria's phone rang; she checked it, frowned, mouthed 'Jane', and headed off to the side. Amy went back to looking at the exhibits with her eyes and mentally rerunning direct-to-DVD films in her head. Megashark was just about to take down Cobrasaurus—

That was a thump.

"Daria? What happened? Something fell-"

"Dropped my phone." There was something in her voice. "Aunt Amy, we need to get back to Maryland and I need to get to Ashfield before night."

"I'm happy to visit Jane but now is a bit short—"

Daria turned round and her eyes were hard, desperate. "Jane's in trouble. We go now. Call Erin."

"Sure, sprat. Sure."

* * *

"The transfer has taken place," said Nassiri. "Please get the X-5 within forty eight hours at the most. After that, it'll be difficult to remove."

"You can trust us," said Muddy.

Dallas's phone rang. "It's my bagman. I'll arrange the meet."

"Mr Grimes," said Nassiri, "I'm a foreign agent and you're selling me a fucking weaponised virus. The only thing I 'trust' is that you'll want more money for… whatever it is you spend your money on. You should spend it on new clothes and personal hygiene."

"I'll let that crack go—"

"He's telling the truth," said Little Nicky.

"Shut up. You can trust us, Nass. We'll get you the X5 and-"

"**OH SHIT!"**

The whole Pizza Forest screeched to a halt at Dallas' very family-unfriendly retort.

"The bagman is at _the goddamn airport_ going _back to Maryland with the virus_ and she only _remembered to tell me now_—"

Humiliated in front of the buyer, Muddy wanted to hurt someone. Badly. Anyone.

So it was a good thing for the Pizza Forest staff that a Homeland Security tactical team burst in through the door, armed and ready to take down a group of hostiles that was _smaller _than the group they actually faced.

* * *

The command base was in uproar, and phones were ringing as everyone in the chain of command wanted to know what in god's name was going on. Two agents were dead, the targets had fled; Morgendorffer and her relatives had vanished off the grid. As the screaming went on, Flemming sat unnoticed, talking quietly on his phone.

"Nakahara is on a short-haul flight to Maryland. All three 'missing' women are on it. He heard the name 'Ashfield'; Bork, track it down. We're heading out now."

"Do we inform Loeb—"

"I think that would be inadvisable at the moment."

* * *

Daria looked at the window but saw nothing. The angst, the doubt, the uncertainty, that was still within her but she wasn't listening right now.

Deep within her, embedded into her every genetic strand, was something loud and angry and discordant.

* * *

"Sir, we've got Homeland Security on the line—"

"Oh _no_," moaned Superintendent Rawls. "This is going to be something unbelievably boring."

He took the call.

He put it down, shaking.

"The feds are ordering us to convene the Lawndale Incident Committee and carry out… carry out Operation Last Resort."

TO BE CONTINUED.

NEXT: COMBAT ROCK

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The ATF guys, the Grimes, and the X-5 is from Beavis And Butt-head Do America – it started as an idle joke and then spiralled from there. Jane and Alison, sad to say, has been planned from the start.

Rule 34 art of Amy is an idea from Erin Mills; "Aunt" Kelly comes from Brian Taylor's Moving Pictures, where she's Amy's BFF. The Pony Express exhibit is real, so I had to bloody use it.

Stay tuned for Combat Rock, because it's all coming to a head there…

* * *

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME...**

**Am I Fired Yet?**

"Greetings, and welcome to the Okay to Cry Corral. I'm Uncle Timothy, and together, we're going to take a journey to the land of self-discovery. A land where it's okay to laugh, and it's okay... to _cry_."

"Is it okay to puke?" asked 'Dire' Daria Morgendorffer.

"And now, I'd like my co-counsellors, Aunt Daria and Uncle Anthony, to say a few words about what they hope to accomplish here."

Daria slouched forward. "My goal is to work off my community service and never, ever come back to this fucking hellhole."

O'Neill blanched. "Um, I meant your goal for the _campers_."

"Oh." She shrugged. "I got nothin'."

* * *

Daria approached her group. One kid was resting his head on his arms, uncaring; the other three backed away in blind terror.

"Whatever," said Daria. "Anyone want to ask shit before we got started?"

"Are you going to kill us?" whimpered one girl.

"No." She turned to the other kid. "Hey, mofo, if I can't sleep here, _no one_sleeps here."

He looked up, glaring. "Is it fall yet?"

"I wish."

* * *

"Now, I want each of you to think of the blue lanyard as representing how you feel on the inside, and the green as how you present yourself on the outside. Picture..."

"This is NOOOOO FUUUUUNNNNN-" Daria sang away to her iPod, before noticing everyone was looking at her. "Fuck off. NOOOOO FUUUUNNN—"

_I am not going to last a whole summer. I'm gonna firebomb that judge's fucking car for this._

* * *

"So continue threading the blue with the green until you've finished…" Daria sighed. "Oh fuck this for a lark, I'm getting drunk." She took out her vodka bottle and took long, deep gulps.

"Are-are you allowed to do that?" asked a nervous kid.

"No. That's the fun part." She saw Link walking over. "Oh god, you don't need me to do something, do you?"

"Nope." He dumped a twisted, gnarled mess on her table. "All done."

She took one look and thrust the bottle at him. "That's it, you need a drink."

"I-what?"

"I'm the fucking counsellor here, you gotta do it. I think. Come on, it might make you puke on Uncle Timothy."

Link took the bottle asap.

* * *

On the third day, Daria had taken the vodka _before_ arriving. And then when arriving. And then during O'Neill's talk. It was _just_about helping. Maybe. She was close to passing out, anyway.

She'd be stuck at this fucking place the whole summer. She had to get kicked out. She _had_to. Wheeling around the room in despair, she finally hit on a foolproof way:

"Josh, wha tha fuck painting is that?"

"My child within wants to be a _winner_," smarmed the kid. "Everyone knows football players are winners."

Daria headbutted the painting so hard her head went through it. "He _lost._"

Josh ran off crying, and O'Neill came over in horror: "Oh my gosh! Daria, what happened?"

"I headbutted a kid's painting, duh."

All the other kids began to cheer, which was honestly not what Daria had been expecting to happen.

"Josh is the worst bully at camp!"

"I _hate _his child within!"

"Hooray for Aunt Daria!"

"Oh fuck _off!_" said Aunt Daria.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Link was painting a picture of a punk Link headbutting an adult man.

_Oh piss up a rope_ she thought. _I've got to do something worse. ANYTHING. But what…?_

* * *

"Now, everyone hold the hand of the person next to them while we all visualize the same word: "trust.""

Daria suddenly thought of a great way to get fired: "Fuck you and your emo-fascist regime, O'Neill! I'm busting out!" She threw her bottle through the window, then her chair, and then another chair for good measure. "See ya, asswipes!"

She was leaping out the window when, to her horror, she heard cheering kids ("we can go on a hike!") coming after her.

"NO, FUCK OFF YOU LITTLE BASTARDS!" she screamed. "I WASTED A WHOLE VODKA BOTTLE ON THIS DON'T SCREW IT UP!"

"Aunt Daria's funny!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

* * *

"The building's on fire!" screamed O'Neill. "Oh _no! _What happened?"

_There's no way I can get out of this,_thought a happy Dire Daria. "Well-"

"Something went wrong with the wires!" said little Curtis, who Daria knew for a _fact _had seen her throw the petrol bomb.

"Yeah, it was totally an accident!"

"Don't worry Aunt Daria, we've got your back!" whispered one of the little traitors.

"Where the hell were you when I _really _needed you in Highland?" snarled Daria, storming off.

* * *

" Well, campers, before you go, let's take a moment to reflect on the valuable lessons we've learned about-"

" Let Aunt Daria!"

"Aunt Daria! She's cool!"

O'Neill broke down in tears and Dire Daria knew how he felt. She'd just found out that the school district was asking if she could do _more_of her community service dealing with school kids: "the boost in self-esteem has been considerable."

_One last go._ "Okay, motherfuckers, here's a brief lesson: you aren't fucking precious snowflakes, you're the puke of the world and that world is a _festering anus_ run by fascists and pigs. And fascist pigs. There's only two ways to not get bumraped to death in this world: the _headbutt_ and _glassing_!" She headbutted and glassed O'Neill for an example. "STRAAAAN-GU-LAAA-SHUN!"

* * *

"Listen to this!" said a proud Helen, reading from the school board's letter. "Every primary school in the district is reporting greater confidence and go-getting by the Okay To Cry Corral alumni, as well as 80% reductions in bullying, a rise in self-defence and survival club attendance, and what appears to be early interest in politics and economics! They're extremely happy and want…. Daria, why are you headbutting the table again?"

THE END


	42. Combat Rock

**HIGHLAND, TEXAS. **

**OCTOBER 1995**

The tape snaps on in a hurry. It is briefly at an odd angle, and the person holding it is muttering under their breath. When the camera is righted, it is focusing on a small infant. The baby girl wears a green shirt with "Punkling" written on it, and her hair has been gelled into spikes.

"She's stopped? Damn. Just when I got this on."

A punk woman, somewhere between late twenties and early thirties, picks the infant up. (The woman has a shaved head but seems to be trying to regrow her hair, and has tried dying it green; it looks like a lawn with weeds growing in it) "Come on, Daria," she coos. "Speak for Mummy."

The baby looks disgruntled.

"Come on, Daria, come on. What was it? Say aaa-naah-key."

The baby opens its mouth. "No."

The camerawoman bursts out laughing, and within a few seconds the punk does as well. Baby Daria struggles and is put down.

"No," she says, as if she's emphasising.

"Helen, this is the _best_ video I have of a talking baby," says Amy, "and I have one of Erin trying to say 'fuck'."

"Awwww, she's been saying 'no' for two weeks now," says Helen proudly. "She knows what it means, I'm pretty sure she knows. Don't you, Daria? Who's the clever baby? Who's the clever baby?"

Daria is disgruntled again, the expression common to all babies being bothered.

"Defiant already, huh? She's going to go far."

* * *

**GOD SAVE THE ESTEEM**

**Episode 42: Combat Rock**

"It was a general call to rebellion that falls apart at the slightest scrutiny." - Toby Creswell, 2005

"Punk was just a way to sell trousers." - Malcolm McClaren to Q, August 1989

"We're not your monkeys." - Sex Pistols to Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, February 2006

"What the hell are you talking about?" - Daria Morgendorffer to St Patrick's Day (no really), March 1999

* * *

Things were moving fast in Annapolis, ever since the magic words "Feds" and "bioterrorism" were uttered. A war room had been assembled in the Maryland National Guard's headquarters; the Lawndale Incident Committee, the Guard, the State Police and an assortment of Homeland Security crowded round, fighting for seats. Special Agent Loeb dominated the map of Lawndale County, glaring at it like the very location was his enemy.

"You've all been briefed on the stakes. That is why we're going with Operation Last Resort, the Incident Committee's contingency plan. The county police and mayor's office will be temporarily suspended in Lawndale proper; state police and Guard forces will blanket the town, cutting off all routes in and out, and laying siege to Dega Street and other strategic points. Strike teams will make a simultaneous raid on thirty targets, all persons responsible for the last few years of chaos. The county police will be ordered to raid secondary targets in other towns.

"Last Resort was originally intended as part of a state of emergency. We are now beyond one state being at risk and federal resources, including the _entire_ Homeland Security force in Maryland, is being thrown in. Also, the DEA because they've been begging for it.

"And the aim this time is bigger. In one strike, we are going to dismantle _every_ fucking port that Morgendorffer can sail to. We've got Homeland Security, Texas Rangers, and the Texan National Guard preparing to take out Highland; secondary teams in other states to hit other affiliates; and we've requested England's MI5 to take down Sid Vicious, just to make the damn _point._

"And then, our teams take her out and retrieve the X5 supervirus.

"Questions? Yes, Mr Bell."

The Business Secretary straitened his tie, and in a tone of great wisdom and gravitas, he said: "Motherfucker, didn't you see Last Resort was dated _April First_?"

"It's a good plan nonetheless."

"No it's not," said Governor O'Malley. "That's why it had an index of Things Can Will Go Wrong."

"Things That Will Fuck Up," corrected Bell.

"We're throwing enough manpower and firepower at it to neutralise most of those, and this is _the security of the republic_ against _bioterrorism_. We don't have to worry about the ACLU or the armchair pinkos on this one." There was a glint in Loeb's eye that said that this was a man who should _always_ need to worry about armchair pinkos. "We bring down all these punks at once. We'll _give them_ a fascist regime."

"You did not just say that."

"_Shut up!_ There is too much _on the line here_ for _snark!_ Men are _dead!_ Whole _states_ may be next! And _no one_ here or in Texas could sort out the rot in time, you're lucky I let you have any involvement! I get authority right from the Oval Office, _understand?_" Loeb wiped some spittle off his chin. "Get ready to mobilise in one hour."

The Guard and Homeland boys seemed glad, but everyone from the State Police and governor's cabinet looked like a turkey that can hear the sleigh bells coming.

* * *

'Aunt' Kelly was always a sensible woman, so when Amy and her nieces turned up for their cars again, she said: "Didn't you just _leave_ for DC yesterday?"

"We realised if we wanted to see systemic corruption, Baltimore was cheaper," said Daria in a flash.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better, Daria."

"I accepted Jesus into my life, and He can always bring his own to parties."

"A dam burst and we can't stop it," said Erin.

"Sorry to love you and leave you, Kelly, but we need to get to Ashfield across state," said Amy. "There's been a thing."

"Not for much longer," said Daria, calm and peaceful as long as you didn't look into her eyes.

* * *

"Thank you." Flemming hung up. "The trio are heading for Ashfield. _The_ Ashfield."

It was years ago, before Bork and Hurly had even joined the ATF, but everyone in the firm knew of Ashfield and its art colony. One of the biggest busts of the year, sunk by some _bastards_ from the DEA trying it at the same time, and so many creeps walking free because of an unending argument about whether their whacky-baccy counted as drugs or cigarettes.

Bork remembered the files. "Her friend, a Jane Lane – she was a young artist…"

"Well, now. Isn't that handy."

* * *

"If the Ashfield CONcert isn't for another FEW HOURS, then WHY are we leaving—" DeMartino took one look at the Tank. "Oh. I SEE."

"It's not the destination, man, it's the journey," said Jesse Moreno, nodding his head. "But we better get there because that's where the gig is."

In the next van along, Quinn stared in awe at the vast, bulging boxes of security gear – truncheons, coshes, tear gas, masks, tasers, a big Stop sign – that Steve was gingerly putting in.

"Do we really need all that?" asked Quinn, like a good monk asking if you got to have sex once you were in heaven.

"I just like having it around," said Steve. "It makes feel happy."

"Steve, you're the coolest stooge of the man I ever met."

"Yeah, I know."

* * *

"See you in four days, Tom, we're off to Ashfield," said Sloane the Senior, before, like all people who'd made a bad joke, going "ha ha, just a joke!"

(Unnoticed by him, Elsie went from happy to glum at the news she was still going to the Cove)

"I thought you were away for most of the month," said Tom.

"After four days, there will be an 'emergency' that forces us to come back. Your mother's working on a really good excuse." Angier put a fatherly hand on Tom's shoulders. "I don't know what you said to be permanently barred from the family's summer get-togethers, but _god_ please tell me."

"Sorry, Dad. You can't rely on me your whole life, you have to learn how to do things on your own."

As the rest of the Sloanes left, Elsie flipped Tom off; Tom struck back by flipping off with _two_ hands; Elsie escalated to sticking her tongue out as well but then their mother caught her, so Tom won by default.

* * *

When Daria reached Ashfield, the town was starting to fill up with bikers, punks, metalheads, and some people she wasn't sure about but looked like they hadn't washed in at least a week.

Her phone rang. "Your family have moved to Ashfield?" asked Erin, and then immediately hang up.

"I just got snarked by Erin," Daria told Amy. "This must be what it's like to see your child say its first words: absolute fucking horror that you won't be able to stop them."

"Ah, Erin. It seems like only yesterday she was screaming her head off at 3AM – or I might be thinking of your mother."

"Was the screaming vaguely intelligible? If so–"

"It was Erin," they chorused, and high-fived each other.

* * *

With his parents absent and not coming back for a long while, Tom had invited Astrid round. Blonde and statuesque, she stood in his room, leaning forward, her lips parting, and she said "Here you go" and handed him the DVD she'd borrowed two weeks ago and forgot to give back.

"Thanks."

"I'll be honest, Thomas. I had a more… underhanded reason for coming. I say underhanded, but I believe – I am _certain_ – it is something you want too."

"Hm. You're right, I do. But I can't."

"You don't have to tell anyone –"

"It couldn't be kept secret, you know that. You also know it's wrong. And you know why it's wrong." Tom sighed. "And Elsie made it very clear that if she even _thinks_ I looked at her diary, she will set fire to me when I'm asleep. I don't want to call that bluff."

* * *

All concept of time had been lost; ever since she knew Daria would be coming, every second stretched out for Jane, forcing her to reflect on what had happened, making her wait an agony of an age for her friend, for respite. She'd turned to painting and that worked, as it always did, but the result was jagged darkness and screaming hate. It was subject matter she painted all the time but always under control, often – dare she admit it – artificially because she found it cool rather than because she'd been angry and depressed in real life. This made it clear how she felt inside.

She covered it, because she couldn't stand any of the Judas's around camp seeing that.

And then it was waiting. And waiting.

And then hope in a green field jacket, walking slowly down the path. Jane ran over to her and was about to open her arms when, suddenly, she felt a bit ill at the thought and stopped.

"I take umbrage with this name, 'Colony of the Arts'," Daria opened. "I don't see a single oppressed indigenous man."

Jane chuckled. "Feeling better, huh?"

"Sucks to how I'm feeling. How are you holding up?"

"I'm not."

"I am willing to make physical contact with a filthy not-me bag of flesh if you want a hug."

"Nah, I'm good."

Daria didn't reply to that, but she'd clearly noted it. "I know I've not been through what you have, and there's nothing I can say that could ever cover it. But I'm going to say things anyway, for the greater good: massaging my ego."

"Fellating your ego, surely."

"Only if the ego behaves itself. Speaking of ego, I saw Daniel Dotson wandering around. He teaches here and you haven't killed him with his own art yet? Oh, Jane. What happened to your hate?"

"Oh, you don't _know_ hate for this guy until you've been in his class. They're seminal _and_ semiotic."

"They sound like something that begins with an s."

"Well, last class of his…"

* * *

Daniel had been running low on hot girls that he hadn't already 'tutored' (he'd seen Daria but had forgotten in the very same instant) and that had left him a bit despondent, but there was an _extremely_ stunning young redhead leaning against the side of a car, talking to some woman in her forties – talking to herself. She must be visiting, so he'd have to work fast to pull her.

"Hello, miss," he said, turning the full force of his charm on. "Looking for—"

Erin cut him off: "Ha ha, no, I'm not getting involved with guys like you again."

Charm was so shocked that it led True Inner Nature stomp to the front instead: "Oh, like you're too good for me."

"Yeah," she said.

With quick wit and great cunning, he said: "Fucking dyke."

Yeah. That showed her.

(PS it didn't, she pointed and laughed as he walked off)

* * *

Something was clearly going on in Ashfield. Through the ancient ATF tactic of looking at a poster ad and reading it, Flemming and his team learnt that there was going to be a Mystik Spiral gig in town.

"Should we tell Loeb's people?" asked Bork.

"No," said Flemming. "We'll have Ms Morgendorffer in custody before Spiral arrives. We don't need Loeb interfering with the plan."

"What's the plan?"

"Go in, see her, bust her, leave" said Hurly. "It's a great plan."

"As Agent Hurly says. We know the targets, they don't know us. We go in now."

* * *

"So why are we arriving in Ashfield before the band does?" Quinn asked Steve.

"We secure the site before they arrive. Means we get paid to sit around doing nothing. And isn't that what it's all about?"

* * *

It was a beautiful day and they had no clients, so Helen and Jake decided to sunbathe, and just to get a proper tan they decided to do it nude. After a bit of argument with the neighbours, they agreed to do it in the back yard instead of the front.

"There sure are a lot of helicopters around today," said Helen. "That whup-whup-whup noise is very distracting."

"Don't worry, honey, I brought a _boombox_ out with us!"

The sound of Ramones filled the entire fucking street, and Helen and Jake clinked beer bottles.

* * *

Jane showed Daria her painting, and the others she'd been working on during her stay. Dark, harrowing, faces in pain and anger.

"Someday the curators will look back on these and say they're from my "art colonies suck" period."

"Curators? Criminologists." Daria paused. "Do you want to tell me how you're really feeling?"

"You've seen the painting."

"Like shit. Someone you thought you could trust turned out to be a bastard and tried to tell you what you wanted, and it's made you unclear about who you are and what you want. And you feel distraught because you can't stop remembering the moments you thought were good ones, and the ones that should have been, and thinking 'why'.

"I actually did, on some level, want what my grandmother offered me. It's not my place to say whether you—"

"I was curious. I probably would have experimented on my own. But… Alison, she…" Jane's voice got smaller. "I was scared but I thought she must know better than me."

"That always hurts. And you're like me, you always thought: I know what I want. Nobody is going to convince me otherwise. Now, you learn that's not true. You know what else you learnt? The methods these people use, how they get in close, and that you can quickly work it out and make sure they can't do it again. Next time someone tries that? You're ready for them."

"Now, though? Now? I'm the stupid girl who got talked into bed."

"You're the girl who had emotions and opened up to people. And I've always admired that about you. I have never been able to do that, the way you can."

Jane looked down. "You'll make me blush. Keep it up."

"That's pretty much all I had."

"And still you came. Thanks."

"You're my friend."

They stood in silence for a minute, not able to meet the other's eye.

"Do you want this Alison woman dealt with?" asked Daria.

"Eh, define 'dealt with'."

"You define it. I'm feeling generous."

* * *

"The state of emergency and martial law is just being announced now," Loeb told the war room. "As soon as the announcement is complete, we strike. Hinz, Rawles, tell your men."

The announcement was ten seconds away when an agent came running in.

"Sir, we're getting reports of a build-up in Ashfield – some of our targets are heading there—"

_"You only now tell me—"_

* * *

Erin and Amy were having a long, philosophical conversation about Dotson and the hypothetical size of his willy, when Amy, without changing her facial expression one iota, said cheerfully: "Don't make it obvious but that guy come towards us is Special Agent Robert Flemming of the ATF. Hilary's Terrier, the guy they send in for the _really_ big shit. I'm going to have to dispose 'in plain sight' of the Oldfield's Moonshine Light-O in the glove box."

"Oh, Aunt Amy. Don't you remember the last time?"

"Nope." She frowned; there was the sound of two cars, coming in far too fast. "Scratch that. I'll just have to hope—" She cut off when she saw the agents responding with confusion to the sound. "Something's wrong."

The cars screeched down the dirt path and Muddy Grimes jumped out before one stopped moving and that's when all hell broke lose across Maryland.

* * *

The Morgendorffer's back door exploded off its hinges as a three-strong SWAT team crashed through it, guns up and ready to fire.

"HOMELAND SECURITY! DOWN NOW OR wuuuuhhhhhh—"

All three agents stood, slackjawed, at the sight of dangly naked bits. In those few valuable seconds, Helen smashed her bottle into the leader's jaw; Jake smashed up his upside a head. The third man only had to time to readjust his aim before he was tackled to the ground and curbstomped.

"We knew this day would come," said Helen grimly. "We go with the contingency plan. Text everyone en route." She thought it some more. "Maybe put on some clothes first."

"No damn time, honey! Even just underpants could cost valuable seconds!"

* * *

The police were raiding the Hecuba house just five seconds after she'd received the "PIGS COMING" text, but that was warning enough – Andrea hurled herself down the stairs, belly-first, into the enemy.

"NO SURRENDER!"

The scene was repeated in the house of every Maleficent Eleven member, except for Shane, who had been on the toilet and was tasered where he sat. First man down.

* * *

Tom had been in the garage when he got the text, but he didn't understand why. Not until a minute later, when he walked out and saw the police breaking into his house.

Very quietly, Tom went back into the garage and into his Bentley, and drove out _very fast._

_They're really hardline about torrenting,_ he thought, scared.

* * *

The texts had spread throughout Dega Street like sentient herpes, but the roads were already blocked off and helicopters hung overhead like vast, predatory birds. Enemy strike teams were already in and making raids. Axel armed himself with a trusty, rusted chain and came out to meet his foes, screaming out London Calling like a battle-hymn, but the State Police and Homeland Security men were too well armoured and too many.

Suddenly, fruit and bottles began to rain down on them – more and more as the street began to rally. The other strike teams found their way blocked.

"I don't think you've twigged what street you're in!" spat Axel, mouth filled with blood.

The lead pig fired into the air.

It didn't work.

He took aim at the crowd.

Someone threw a very accurate brick and he went down.

The crowd rushed in.

* * *

Interception teams had caught up with the Tank – this was not hard – while a frenzied debate was going on. On the one side, Max and Trent and the very meaning behind their music. On the other, DeMartino with normal human logic and common sense:

"Trying to FIGHT the State PoLICE is STUPID!"

Then the State Police outriders blocked off the van and a response team ripped the doors open, and the lead officer said: "Oh shit, it's old Mister DeFartino!"

DeMartino looked at the man and his mind's eye went back ten years to a C-grade student who always talked in class and put gum under the seats.

He grabbed his heavy, blunt guitar as the world went red.

* * *

There was noise across the forest but none that he had to care about. They weren't the target. You'd _know_ if you heard the target. So would your partner, because nobody would do this mission without backup.

Or without armour-piercing rounds, because against someone like this you _just wanna have fuu-uuun_

"BRAVO TEAM TO ALL – CONTACT, **CONTACT!**"

Shots filled the air.

* * *

The National Guard had been expected to be called in as support – they _knew _Lawndale – but not to secure the house of a teenage girl. When they arrived, one policeman stood outside to greet them, shellshock on his face.

"Target 'Burnout', she…. She fled to her basement."

"I see. What's she armed with?"

"Uh…I have no idea. We can't find her."

That went down as well as a striptease by Freddy Kruegar. "You can't find someone in a basement."

The policeman nodded and led them into the house and down into a weed farm that stretched _under the entire street._

"My god…"

* * *

Legal staff fled and papers were scattered like lost lives as the windows of Vitale, Riordan etc shattered, armed police and soldiers pouring through them. Offices were kicked into, paralegals waved against walls, Eric Schrecter dragged crying from under a desk.

And the whole raid stopped at the sound of a ball bouncing.

"What." Jim Vitale, walking out of his office, bounced his rubber ball off the wall. "Exactly." Off the other wall. "Do you think you're doing?"

Guard Sergeant Chen did not blink."This firm is a primary target for the pacification of Lawndale County," she said.

"Oh, really. How nice for you." Vitale put his ball in his pocket. "You do realise how many ways there are for me to _bury_ you for this, and all your bosses, and your _family_, at that? Do you? You realise who you're messing with?"

He would have gone on longer but then a policeman said "RESISTING ARREST!" and whacked him in the stomach with his rifle butt.

"I don't know, but I guess they do," Chen told the fallen lawyer, as every Maryland policeman cheered.

* * *

The bin came at police van Zulu-Five without warning, coming close to shattering the windscreen. That miss would be the _last_ error their enemy would make, as four of the State Police's hardest jumped out, weapons ready, to penis boobs vagina penis boobs vagina penis penis PENIS

Thirty seconds later, as their stolen van roared away, one officer fought to hold onto consciousness long enough to call it in.

"Send… _asexual_ officers… _stat_," he added before going under.

* * *

And in Ashfield, Agent Flemming went for his guns, drawing one in each hand, aiming right for the Grimes' heads, but then fell over because Muddy had drawn first and shot him in the neck.

Bork and Hurly looked down as their mentor bled out and died.

"Oh," said Hurly. "I wasn't expecting that."

She grabbed Bork and ran for cover.

* * *

Jane looked up. "What was—"

"Gunshots." Daria's voice was small and tight. "Wait here."

She crept to the door; there were armed men running to the huts, firing shots and barking orders for people to get out.

"Jane, you'll need to start running."

"And _you_ run like Lonesome George, _after_ death. Nuh-uh."

"Be logical about this. Someone needs to get out and get help."

The argument ended when the door was kicked in. Daria grabbed the nearest thing at hand and swung it, hard, and being hit with a canvas knocked the thug off-balance for a few seconds.

"I'll follow just run!"

They fled out of the hut, with Jane clearly in the lead, but that meant it was Jane who ran into one of the enemy. Daria's heart and thoughts stopped; Daria's legs kept going, taking off her track and into the woods; Daria's ears told her the guy she'd hit was gaining on her.

* * *

"I WON'T DO IT AGAIN I SWEAR!" cried out Tom, but it didn't seem like the motorcycle cops and the _fucking helicopter_ could hear him. He'd been gunning it at 70mph for two minutes now, which, he quickly realised, was not a good way to get the police to stop following you.

Something big was going down. The radio said something about "martial law" and "state of emergency". The roads were empty except for two sorts: police, soldiers, and other suited bully-boys; and incredibly scruffy people that looked like Quinn's understudies, either fleeing or fighting or being bumrushed.

By the time a police van roared alongside him with a naked Mr and Mrs Morgendorffer in, Tom's mind was suet pudding and he decided it was a good idea to just follow them.

Even when he was following them to a gigantic police-car barricade at Dega Street.

"I should probably stop the car oh too late—"

The Bentley punched its way through the barricade with a noise like Transformers BDSM, and Tom found himself surrounded by punks cheering him as one of their own and thought he'd died & gone to Hell.

* * *

Daria's legs seized up as her brain took charge again. It was obvious that she couldn't outrun this man.

"Right, missy, really fucking funny with the canvas. Now come _with_."

"It's Amy Barksdale you're here for, right? The timing is too big a coincidence."

"She took something that don't belong to her. Now walk."

* * *

Homeland Security had planned to raid Sick, Sad Head Office quick and hard, taking in any potential ally of Amy Barksdale. They had _not _expected the building to be prepared for a siege, shutting off the lifts and barricading the stairs.

"The Illuminati, I knew it, _I knew it!_ And they thought we wouldn't see them coming! 'State of emergency', yeah right!"

"I'm updating the website with real-time reports: they can't stop the truth!"

* * *

Daria raised her hands.

And, when in range, grabbed his coat and launched herself up into the biggest headbutt she could manage.

* * *

Every malcontent in Lawndale County was descending on Dega Street, pouring in through the holes in the barricade. Tom kept asking "what's going on?" and "why is everyone breaking _into_ a siege?", but he just didn't get it. The Zon was serving as a command centre, due to the strategic assets of being big enough to fit everyone and having a lot of beer; Hellion Wheels had maps spread across the bar, with salted peanuts representing the forces of anarchy and Hula Hoop crisps as the Man.

"With the numbers we're building up, we can make a frontal attack _here_. Stragglers in the county are fighting running battles here, here, and here, and 15-to-Life bar is still holding out; if we move soon, they won't be able to bring in reinforcements. We can sweep through Lawndale, street by street!"

"What about the choppers?" asked Bob, scanning the map with a critical eye. "Most of them aren't gunships, _yet_, but…"

"If and when they attack, we regroup _where rich people live._ The Man won't shell his own." Helen looked up from her map. "What's the word on the Manstream media?"

"That guy with the suit said there's bio-tourism going on," called out Jake. "The Big Lying, am I right?!"

"Not quite, sweetie. Anyone got any comments and questions?"

"Yeah, who's paying for all this beer you're drinking?" asked the owner of the Zon.

* * *

Being headbutted would not, on its own, do much to a hardened mob enforcer.

But Daria had followed that up by slamming the heel of her boot, with all the weight she could muster, into his ankle.

Crack.

The same thing was done to his trigger finger; the gun was snatched up while he was still roaring his head off.

And then she walked off.

* * *

Everyone in the art colony had been founded and dragged into the main building; nobody would be trying any heroics or calling for help, and it meant several dozen hostages to keep the ATF from making a move. The ATF meant the gang couldn't leave either, but they were working on that.

After finding out she'd been carrying a stolen super-virus for the past week, Amy, dead-eyed and defeated, just said. "I really do have a _crap_ taste in partners."

Muddy yanked her head up. "You keep acting like this is all an accident, you think I _buy_ that?"

"No, Mister Grimes, it's pretty clear you don't."

"Don't smart off to m–"

"Where's the ugly girl?" said Dallas suddenly. "Had a green jacket, name began with a D? I don't see her."

Muddy would have said "ah, Drover and Jenkins are still searching" if Jenkins hadn't come in, carrying a busted up Drover and saying "boss, he really _did _get beaten up by a girl, I _swear_".

* * *

Steve and Quinn had no idea of the state of emergency, because they'd been listening to Steve's Queen CDs ("no, Killer, that was a different Queen that had the fascist regime"). It came as a bit of a shock to drive into Ashfield and see riot cops and SWAT teams and vans marked Homeland Security all over the place, with the great unwashed fleeing en masse.

"Unlock the door, Steve."

"Nah. You'll join in."

"Well duh!"

"Right, I'll have to explain this in… Huh. Isn't that your sister?"

* * *

She'd walked out of the forest and through the initial chaos in town, dead eyes on the outside and a brain like an acid trip in a nuclear reactor on the inside, and stood in the middle of the not-riot, looking at both sides and calculating odds. When the nearest tactical officer noticed her, it became clear in a split-second that she was one of their _targets._

There really wasn't any time to think why. She improvised.

"**WE OUTNUMBER THEM."**

The yell cut through the din and punks, metalheads, bikers and the rest looked at this small, weak girl, standing before the bully-boys. And bending to pick up a fallen bottle.

"They're winning because they work together, for a common cause," the girl called out. "Well, all of _us_, here, now, forever, have a common cause. It's to _drive their sort back_ so we'll be left alone! Our divides and differences don't matter compared to the **DAMAGE** we can do if we stand together against _them_."

It took a few seconds for her words to sink in. It would take a few more for her audience to see all the problems and flaws in her argument, which is why she started walking before that could happen.

Right towards the enemy lines, bottle raised like a sword.

"Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough!"

The scattered, disparate gangs turned into a surging fist of anarchy that thundered past her.

_Still got it_, she thought.

* * *

"Unlock the door, Steve."

He handed her a truncheon. "Yo."

* * *

It lasted ten seconds and Daria took a few glancing blows – which could have come from anyone, really – that would give her a few photogenic bruises, but the filth were being pushed back, outnumbered and outviolenced. Their ranks broke like the Walls of Jericho.

Most of the army surged onward, pursuing their enemy, but there were enough people left standing around, pumped up on adrenaline and rhetoric, for her purposes. (One of which was her sister, but Daria didn't have time to question that either)

"These are not the only enemies!" she yelled. "Ashfield's art colony has already fallen to some total bastards who think _they're _the hardest gang around! _Who wants to correct their mistake?_"

* * *

Things were getting very bad in the Annapolis war room, unless you were a travelling salesman specialising in blood pressure drugs and stress balls. Loeb was steadily disintegrating as even more and more reports came in, and the markers on the situation maps flew around the map like they were trying to escape.

"Spiral and DeMartino are off the grid, we have no idea where they are now—"

"Oakwood rioters are doubling back up Main Street—"

"Estimate three hundred at Dega Street—"

"_Two teams_ lost in 'Weed Underground', requesting aid—"

"Asking to withdraw from Ashfield centre—"

"Reinforcements requested at Sick Sad—"

"Target Barch has managed to _turn_ two of our agents, they're firing shots and screaming about pay gaps—"

"Recon team at Good Time Chinese are reporting – no, that can't be right…"

"Highland County gone to shit, direct quote there from Captain Whiteman!" An agent began to push all the white markers in the Highland map towards the school. "Homeland, DEA, and Rangers have been pushed back to the high school, they're under siege and the Guard are preparing helicopter evacuations!"

"It just got worse _again_, sir! Sick, Sad World's website has been spotted by malcontents and the wider media – police and press are reporting angry build-ups in New York, LA, San Francisco, Houston, Seattle, and outside our embassies in London, Canberra, Berlin, Jakarta… _Update to that!_ Hackers have launched sympathy attacks, sir! They're—"

"They're making it harder to access our websites!" said Rawles in mock horror.

"How did you know?!"

"Helicopter raid on Sick Sad!" snarled Loeb. "Take out their power and signal! Tell Texas Guard to lay down fire! And recall _every_ secondary team in Lawndale to Dega Street, _we crush this now!_"

"First sympathy riot already, sir! West Baltimore!"

"How will anyone notice?" asked Rawles.

"Loeb, sir, we have a phone call from the White House-"

Loeb found whole new glands to sweat from. _"I'm not available take a message."_

* * *

Thousands of years ago, at Thermopylae, three hundred Spartans stood against a greater army, with no hope or aid except for the four hundred Thebans, seven hundred Thespians, and an unknown number of helots who were also there but didn't have as good a marketing team.

Now, in Lawndale, three hundred punks marched towards the Man's lines, and there really were just three hundred of them. Punks are better than Spartans. _Maths._

Hellion Wheels led the army, a chain round her right arm and a big stick in her hands, flanked by a force of the big, the bad, and the ugly. To the sides of her mob, Dega inhabitants set their _own_ cars on fire as they got carried away.

The riot cops and soldiers readied their weapons. "LAST WARNING!"

"_pbbbbbbbtttttt."_ Hellion raised her stick. **"MUSIC!"**

There was an embarrassed few seconds when the Zon speakers blared out some disco music ("It's not mine, I swear!"), but then it got round to blaring out Straight To Hell and the mob charged…

* * *

Muddy knew that Daria would be calling the law in; it was time to go. They'd have to break out past the ATF guns, which would be risky, but hostages would help. Plus, he could make Dallas take _point_ as revenge.

Or he would have, except Dallas had been throwing out I'll-put-out vibes at him for the last hour and talking about how impressed she was and "remember how good a team we made…". This slowed things down (especially from Dallas' POV, which revolved in around becoming old some day).

"I know I've made mistakes, baby, and I'm willing to… _make it up_ to you."

"I've only just met you people," said Jane, "but you're not going to fall for that, Fat Guy With Gun, right?"

"She's one of our takeaway hostages," Muddy told his gang.

"He's gonna fall for it," Jane told the other hostages.

"Or maybe we shoot her to show the filth we mean business."

_Yeah, I do not think straight when I'm terrified,_ thought Jane.

Dallas pointed lazily at Erin. "Shoot that one. She really got on my nerves."

Amy started to yell and move forward, but as struck down; it was hard to scream abuse when she was gasping for breath. The Grimes didn't even bother to look.

Erin, pale and shaking, looked for a sign that this was a joke and saw none. She took a deep breath.

And then roared out: "I wish you'd done it weeks ago so I wouldn't have _had MY rightful oxygen_ stolen by you, you waste of silicon! God, the amount of precious brain cells I had to waste on your vacuous prattle, it was preferable when you farted and _that_ is like choosing Mussolini over Hitler! The best part of you _dripped out of your mother's crack!_ **What are you staring at?!"**

"Nuh nuh nuffin," stammered Harry the Bastard, a gangster who once shoved a man through a paper shredder.

Muddy dragged Erin, screaming abuse at the top of her lungs all the way, out and into the eyesight of the waiting ATF duo. He was going to call out for them to watch but the woman was drowning him out, and she'd probably got their attention anyway (especially with that remark about his face looking like a "**pile of butts**") .

She was so loud, he couldn't hear the cars and bikes until they were almost on him.

"What the f–"

* * *

The Dega Street barricade staggered back and spat blood & teeth into the corner. As did two separate Homeland men when Helen used one to headbutt the other _with someone else's head._

Reinforcements, acting on foaming orders from Annapolis, drove the dark horde back with tear gas and rubber bullets, their own side being written off as collateral damage.

"RETURN FIRE!" yelled Helen, the cue for bottles and rubbish to be hurled at the enemy – suppressive fire only, and temporary. But it gave them precious seconds for Bob to run down from the opposite end of the street.

"The National Guard are massing back there, they think they're going to hit us unprepared in the rear!" He grinned. "Roof now?"

"Roof now!" She waited for Bob and a few dozen punks to slip away into the night, then signalled for the barrage to stop. "ADVANCE!"

Back at the Zon, Straight To Hell ended and was replaced by a cover of Straight To Hell.

Rubber bullets went past and into the charging punks; Jake, red and raging, voiced the immortal battle cry "THOSE RUBBER THINGIES _HURT!_" and shoved a gun up a man's left nostril. People hit faces with knee, fist, head, bottle, truncheon, and a dead fish. The barricade began to crumble.

And behind the riot, National Guard soldiers with riot shields and full clips advanced.

Advanced past buildings where thirty punks with full bladders were waiting.

* * *

"Second Pincer are falling back from Dega Street – _chemical attack!_"

"Terrorists! See! All of them!" Loeb had run out of foam for his mouth two minutes ago. "_Tell_ the other cities: tell them all punk gatherings count under counter-terror law!"

"Yeah, about that, sir – that Homeland team you asked to raid the LA gathering? We've lost contact and now there's reports of a riot—"

"Sir, the President is on the phone, emailing, tweeting—"

"Destroy the Zon. _Destroy the Zon!_ That will re-establish our authority, _tell the gunship to airstrike the Zon now!_"

* * *

They'd swarmed across the art colony before Muddy could quite grasp what he was looking it, and the next thing he knew he'd been hit by a bottle and his grip was lost on the hostage and every parked car belonging to his gang had been Molotov Cocktailed. The sound of breaking windows and doors and burning shit and yelling was everywhere, (some of it directed at random, uninhabited huts because some people had forgotten why they'd come there).

He and his gang had expected the law. This was definitely not the law. The law dressed better than this.

And there was that girl in the jacket Dallas had mentioned, right in the eye of the storm, meeting up with Erin. Muddy aimed his gun at her head.

"Hey. I'm called Steve."

And when Muddy got off the ground, his nose was gone.

"…_right_."

* * *

Three of the gangsters had come out to meet this attack, and that was their mistake because they wasted valuable seconds saying "dude, what the f" before they were mobbed and became closely acquainted with many types of boots. That left six hostiles, counting Dallas, according to Erin – seven if you counted Muddy but he seemed busy re-enacting every known ECW match with Steve.

Those six would have been swiftly overwhelmed if they hadn't fired warning shots from the hostage hut ("ow, my knee!" cried a warned person). That pretty much dampened everyone's enthusiasm.

"What are we going to break now?" asked someone.

"I heard there's an artist here called Alison who totally supports the man," said Daria. "Her stuff is… I have no idea. It'll have her name on."

That got rid of any of the mob that weren't busy stomping some guys: useful. An opening was needed.

"Quinn? Steve brought his tear gas and gas mask, right?"

"I get my _own_ gas and mask now, bitch! I wrote my initials on it! Kay-Que-Em!"

"Excellent."

Behind her, there was a great crashing sound as a grappling Steve & Muddy went through a hut wall.

* * *

News helicopters were over Dega and Jake had to be stopped from waving at them.

"The whole world is watching!" roared Helen, before hitting a policeman with a police-car door. "Keep fighting! Show the man!"

"The whole world is watching!" roared Sergeant Butcher, before hitting a punk with a police-car door (well, they do have four). _"Don't look like pussies!"_

And then came the sound of rotors, coming closer and closer; and then the sound of something coming through the air, very fast.

And then there was a bright light, and everyone turned to see the Zon was missing a wall, and its roof was yawning inwards, and then a great plume of dust and filth rising into the air.

Every rioter's heart skipped a beat.

And then they turned, as one, to the law.

"New orders, everyone run like fuck!" roared Butcher.

* * *

In the hostage hut, Dallas was taking charge: "We don't know who this outfit is, but we do know they aren't armed and gunfire scares them. Plug a few of them, we should be able to waltz out."

"It's your husband who's paying us," said Little Ricky.

"Once I sell the X-5, I can double whatever he's done."

"Huh." Little Ricky turned to Jane. "You were right, Muddy shouldn't have fallen for it. Oh well, not like we're known for our honesty."

The front of the hut erupted with tear gas. The gunmen at the front staggered back, coughing, but not fast enough to escape the raging figure in the gas mask that tore through the gas and into them with truncheon and head.

"MOVE ALONG!" the demon roared, smashing one to the ground and turning on the other. "SETTLE DOWN NOW!" The annihilation-by-truncheon of his genitals, then shoving fingers up his nose and ripping them through it. **"I'M ON BREAK!"**

The rear wall smashed in under the weight of many lead pipes and boots, and angry pierced youths took down two more men from behind. Any chance at regrouping in the hut was fucked, and so was all but three of the gang. All but two, in fact, since Dallas was running out with a hostage already.

"Fuck it," said Little Ricky, running after.

(Harry the Bastard would have followed but Erin entered the room, and he fell to the ground begging for mercy. Quinn kicked him.)

_Someone_ whipped out a chain at Ricky's legs – not hard, but it was enough to cause him to trip. He started to get up when the boot slammed down on his head.

Daria left him to unconsciousness and carried out walking. Dallas' hostage had looked like Amy.

* * *

Steve went through another wall, and a snarling Muddy came after him in a bodyslam – "REJECTED!" yelled Steve, rolling out of the way.

"I don't know who the hell you are but _no one_ is going to get in the way of me and the X-5!"

"The what now?"

"You… _you don't even know?!_ The X-5 is only… currently with…. Dallas _oh fuck!_"

Muddy ran off, ignoring as Steve said, "yeah, that means I win".

* * *

"_Six_ sympathy riots! Punks are attacking the embassies! The Lawndale mob is tearing through the town, we're not holding them back, choppers report they're heading for the local Guard base!"

_"EVERYTHING WE HAVE LEFT is to intercept! LIVE ROUNDS!"_

"Oh is that the time, I have to go," said Rawles, putting his jacket on. "Sorry Loeb, didn't hear what you last said."

* * *

Scattered forces of law and order, gunships hovering above like vast wasps, stood ready at Seven Corners. The punks came in a wave of rage, crying for blood. Nothing could stop them together and blood staining the streets.

Nothing but the _sound._

A mass of rust pretending to be a van trundled towards them all, a man standing on the roof. From that man came the _sound_, a discordant wrath of the gods, digging right into your soul and triggering something primal.

**"AAAA THIS WHOLE SITUATION IS STUPID WHO WAS THE FUCKHEAD WHO TOLD YOU TO DO THIS A FUCKHEAD THAT'S WHO FUUUUUUUUUUUUU"**

The filth lowered their guns.

**"UUUUUUUUUUUUUUC"**

* * *

"Sir, the… (Are you sure? Okay) Loeb, our men have stood down and told us their orders quote suck unquote. And a third of them have now _joined _the rioters and want them to come here."

Loeb collapsed in on himself like impotency.

"Sir, the President is making a personal visit and he looks pissed."

"mblblbl"

* * *

Dallas was two minutes through the woods, Amy yanked along by her hair, when a furious, gun-wielding Muddy caught up with them. Not missing a beat, Dallas said: "Good to see you, hun! We keep cutting through this way, we can get into town, jack a car—"

"What? But you—" Muddy gave up. "We'll call Nassiri on the road."

"What the _hell _was all of that back at the art camp anyway? Did we piss off the Hells Angels again? Because _behind you!_"

He fired two shots behind him before turning to aim – any normal enemy would have dived for cover after that – but the green-jacketed bitch hadn't moved and once he had her locked _she had him locked._

With her glasses, in this light, you couldn't make out her eyes at all.

Time

slowed.

"Drop the gun, girl." Dallas, sounding rattled despite her words. "You can shoot him first, but then _I_ get you. And you can't shoot me with your aunt in the way. Your aim isn't that good."

The girl's lips started to curl up in a smile.

Muddy was starting to sweat. Normal reaction to a gun pointed at you, didn't mean anything. She wouldn't fire. She didn't have what it takes.

"Smile all you want, you're just some middle-class brat with a borrowed gun," sneered Muddy. "You think you can play the big boy's games?"

The girl's lips slowly parted until she was grinning with every tooth.

And you still couldn't make her eyes.

"Bluffing won't work."

Did her grin get wider?

"Put it down," said Dallas, "or I shoot your aunt."

Time

slowed

as the girl dropped to one side, firing

once

twice

the grin vanished and no expression on her face; the shots were being sent Dallas's way, aimed _away_ from her, just done to scare her into dropping the hostage and taking cover

while Muddy fired a shot that went where Daria had been, but he was starting to move his aim when he felt something soft tear inside himself

and there was a growing red patch on his side

time

sped up.

Muddy fell, screaming as the pain caught up with him. Another man was screaming louder: "ATF! EVERYONE FREEZE!"

Muddy dropped his gun and began to raise his arms as he turned – he could get out of this, maybe, but not if he was dead. "Alright, you–"

That ATF woman pointing a gun at hi

* * *

"Resisting arrest," she said, not bothering to look at the corpse. "You all saw. Especially _you_, Mrs Grimes, right? Ms Morgendorffer, put the gun down."

Daria realised she was still pointing at Dallas, from where the woman had dived. "Oh." She dropped the gun – which made it go off. "Gah! Sorry. I borrowed it from a guy. Well, I say borrowed. Stole."

"I'm ATF Agent Hurly. This is Agent Bork. We know who you and your aunt are." She clicked her teeth. "Obviously, we'll need to have a little chat about exactly what's been going on."

Amy raised her hand. "Is it to do with this… I dunno what it is. This grey box thing Dallas was keeping in my handbag."

"The X-5 supervirus. Capable of wiping out entire nations."

"You _are _crap at dating," Daria told her aunt. "Okay. We'll come sarcastically."

"Would you have actually fired to kill?" asked Bork suddenly.

"Sorry, I don't argue philosophy with strangers."

* * *

It was strange, but almost _the entire war room_ had to go to the toilet just before the President came in. Loeb was alone, unloved, and probably would be unmourned at this rate.

"Loeb?"

"M-M-Mister Puh-President."

President Obama paused, as he did before making one of his more articulate and intricate speeches, and then, with a brow knit with concentration, said: "You _suck_."

"I'm back," called out Rawles, "so, Loeb, how's it going _oh shit_."

* * *

"We now go live to Tara on the scene – Tara, what's the situation?"

"Well, as you can see behind me, the mob has _halted_ outside of Lawndale County limits since the arrival of Attorney General Holder, and a large _beer truck,_ ah, that we believe was a gesture of good intent. We can again _confirm _that despite Pentagon claims, a number of the National Guard, Homeland Security, and the Maryland State Police have indeed _mutinied._

"While the situation is calming after Holder's direct negotiations, there are many unanswered questions – ranging from just who was the mysterious guitar player who reportedly caused the mutiny—"

Jake pushed the reporter aside and said: "Anthony DeMartino's sound is just _that punk!_ His first single is going on iTunes tomorrow! Yeah! _Hi sis!_"

* * *

The effects of the Punkrising would reverb throughout the States for years – and the world, in the case of the new punk revival that would dominate western, Asian, and post-Arab Spring music for three years. (The revival met its end when Anthony DeMartino, the front man for it, suffered a minor stroke at a Tunis concert after screaming for a whole minute without stopping or breathing.)

A great culling was launched against Homeland Security, which bore the brunt of the government's blame. Special Agent Loeb escaped jail after he was declared mentally unfit to stand trial, and would remain in care for twelve years. Superintendent Rawles quickly turned supergrass and "retired" early, ensuring the survival of the State Police (and his pension). As a lucky side effect, the Maryland State Police were now recognised as the best trained and equipped counter-riot force in the States, and would train other police services for many years.

In order to get everyone to go home, and because the mob could genuinely claim "but they started it", an amnesty was declared in Maryland. The 2012 election was dominated by debate over this and the riots in general; the Republicans would take all Congress seats, and later the governor, in that state. In order to stand against sustained Republican criticism, Obama and his Cabinet went a massive verbal offensive, and got the Democrat Party to lock ranks (after Obama's infamous "Shut The Fuck Up" meeting with party dissidents). Months of conflict would lead to a narrow Democrat victory, the collapse of the Republicans into two new parties (who spent twelve years out of power after _that _big a failure), and Obama being caricatured as a punk by comedians until 2016.

Despite gloomy economic forecasts, the economy of Lawndale would shoot up from tourism. People from across the country and world began visiting to see _the_ Dega Street, and other towns began to profit from tours run by former rioters, taking people to the various places they'd hit policemen and been hit. The rebuilt Zon, by contrast, almost failed, until Morgendorffer Consulting rehired its old anti-cleaners to spread dirt & beer stains and vandalise the toilets. After that, the locals flocked back to it.

Part of the great punk revival was the spread of ri-art: a new style pioneered by young artists who'd been hostages at Ashfield Colony of the Arts and witnessed the great battle. The style would eventually become a parody of itself and overrun by poseurs, until a revival after the Beijing Revolt of 2026. Strangely, this style was not followed by the artist Alison Biffsen, who dropped out of the art world: witnesses say a teenage girl in a field jacket had a conversation with her, and Biffsen was quite shaken afterwards.

Sick, Sad World became even more famous and prosperous for being one of Loeb's key targets. Unfortunately, this went to SSW's head and it deliberately tried to piss off the US government again in the hope of a second attack. To the horror of its devoted fans, Sick, Sad World had become a real-world news programme and they fled in droves.

The recovery of the X-5 virus, occurring at the same time Homeland Security had wrecked national security in pursuit of the same thing, turned the ATF into the top dogs of US law enforcement. Bork became director within five years, with Special Agent Hurly as his attack dog (and, the theory went, power behind the throne). Serious questions were asked in Congress about why the _fuck_ the army had even made the bloody thing.

All of this was in the future and unknown to Daria (except for the Alison thing, natch). All she knew was that after twenty minutes of questioning, the President himself came in and asked her to sign something that said she would never talk about half of what had happened.

"Haven't I seen you before?" he asked.

"I was at Highland High when you visited."

"Oh. Right, yes, you were the one who asked that question about my education policies." Obama stared into the distance, a haunted man. "You were the student that wasn't…. _them_."

"Much like Hannibal Lector's leftovers, they certainly make an impression."

* * *

"Alison apologised," said Jane. "Well, sort of. She wouldn't look me in the eye and used bigger words than normal, like she was repeating something she'd been told to say. And her hut was on fire."

"Yes, imagine that," said Daria.

"Thanks."

"If I learnt nothing else from my parents – and let's be honest, I probably didn't – it was that if someone messes with your loved ones, you go with total retaliation."

"I learnt my parents suck. You win." Jane looked around the camp; various artists were looking at the riot damage and bloodstains with inspiration in their eyes. "Y'know, I actually think I want to stay the remaining week. It looks like something _fun_ is going to happen. I'd like to be in on it."

"And miss out on Lawndale's thrilling 'lawless anarchy' period and its looting opportunities?" Daria shrugged. "I'll keep a pizza warm for you. Hopefully, when you get back, Tom will have forgiven me for that 'drive everyone away' thing."

"He will. You know how he is with you. I wonder what he did during the riot anyway?"

* * *

Tom's head emerged from the Zon's basement. "Is the riot over yet—What the _hell_ happened here?"

* * *

Steve threw Quinn a beer; she grabbed it, opened it, drank it.

They sat together, knuckles and faces and sides bruised, looking out on Ashfield and the wreckage therein.

"You really think I could be a security guard?" she asked him.

"Quinn, after all that, you could be a one-woman SWAT team. In _Guatemala_."

"The police?! _Eewwwww!_ Don't even joke about that, Steve!"

"Won't happen again."

Quinn drank her beer and looked out into the future.

* * *

Lawndale was in a state of lesser chaos when Daria got back: burnt-out police cars and broken windows everywhere, journalists of many tongues, and drunk police and punks comparing battle-scars. The Tank was parked in the middle of the – wait, no, it had just broken down. Trent and, to Daria's shock, _DeMartino_ were doing a duet about how annoying it was when your car breaks down. (DeMartino was really catchy)

"Mum always said Helen would do something like this one day," said Amy.

"My mum said that too!" said Erin.

"And mine," said Daria.

"You did a good job today, sprat," said Amy quietly. "And I'm not just saying that because you saved me. Mainly that, of course."

"People I loved were in trouble. I didn't have much of a choice."

"Yes you did."

"I really didn't." Daria watched the Red Cross set up an aid station. "Anyway, you were trying to help me. And I do know more about how and when to ride chaos than I used to. That may not be a good thing for wider society, but hey, it keeps me being bored."

"I dunno," said Erin. "When I think of all that's happened to us over the last two years, all the reversals and the pain and the progress…. You think there's an order in it? A, a _purpose_?"

"No."

"I'm going with no too," said Amy. "Anyway, what next, Daria?"

* * *

Five minutes into Daria's future:

"Tom." She hesitated at his doorstep, tried to meet his eye, tried to find words. "Um. Ah. Hmm."

"Uh. Hey, Daria."

"Um."

"Er."

"Can we have the make-up sex and pretend there was a conversation?"

"Oh thank god one of us said that."

"I love you."

"I love _you_."

* * *

Back in the present:

"I'm going to talk to Tom – stop smirking, Erin."

"Ha, 'talk'."

"After that…"

The town was in still in a mess, and it was likely to spread everywhere. She had no idea where she'd be going to school again come autumn, or where Jane would go, or what she'd face from a still-hostile ex-Lawndale High student body. Her relationship with Tom was constantly fractious. Her family were… her family, nuff said. And college and careers loomed in the future like great beasts.

"Whatever the _hell _I _want_."

THE END

* * *

(Future Egos:

(Tommy Sherman and Ms Nikahd as Superbowl commentators: a still-image of Kevin, wearing a Baltimore Ravens uniform, is on the screen

(The Maleficent Eleven, bar Quinn, as power-suited executives raising wine glasses

(Sandi as a university lecturer: her PowerPoint presentation is called "FLARES: Threat Or Menace?"

(Grandma Edie Barksdale in hospital, getting the last rites

(Trent wakes up, yawning, not realising he's overslept and is now in the far future

(Brittany, a US Marine, returns fire in an unknown street

(Upchuck smiles benevolently at us as he's crowned Pope

(Barch, in a wrestling ring, raises her arm in triumph after defeating a much larger male

(Pascal, in the night, doesn't realise an escaped O'Neill is behind him with metal teeth…

(Mohammed, in a shady alleyway, deals contraband to Mack

(A woman falls out of a burning building – but Tom, in superhero armour, is flying up to save her

(Astrid Magnus, inducted into Norway's elite Ninja Force

(Erin and Jodie, the front women for E&J Consulting

(DeMartino's grave – and a hand is rising from it…

(An elderly Helen and Jake lead a mini-riot of other old people in a rest home – poor nurse 'Chipmunk' is pelted with food

(Amy Barksdale, on-the-spot reporter as a UFO hovers above London

(Stacy stands proudly in an art gallery, surrounded by discordant and diverse paintings

(Quinn guards a Baltimore junior high, with a whole pile of local hoods beaten at her feet – she ruffles a kid's hair

("Vote Cindy 2020": Cindy waves to her supporters – Steve lurks as her assigned Secret Service detail

(Beavis and Butt-head, elderly and STILL IN SCHOOL

(Daria, the archetypal chain-smoking, hard-bitten 20s reporter, working away on a story; Jane checks her vintage camera; a framed story on the wall says "MAYOR INDICTED")

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

"It is the end. But the moment has been prepared for."  
- The Doctor

I'm lying. It's not.

The original intention, way back when, was to continue until "Is It College Yet?" but it became clear months ago that things had gone too far to be scaled back. Yes, some characters and plots remain in an odd place (poor Stacy), but better to end up a high note of supreme anarchy than metaphorically take coke, get arrested for killing your girlfriend, and die of an overdose. There's enough left in the punkverse that I might return to it some day, like some once-cool middle-aged rocker who is desperate to sponge off his glory days, but we'll see how this goes.

On the way out, I make the original characters - Steve, Maths teacher Ewing, Astrid Magnus, Superintendent Pascal, lawyer "Foggy" Murdoch, school fixer Mohammed, that random posh student from Ep11 etc - available to any and all fans. And by that, I mean "make Steve available and some other dudes too, I guess" because let's be honest. By the time I write this, I've seen Steve in two other fics and that makes me happy.

I had absolutely no idea I was going to produce all this after just a few gags on a forum thread asking "what would a modern day Daria look like". Bloody hellfire. What a ride.

Props go to Brian Taylor for Moving Pictures and the start of the punkverse; The Excellent S for unwavering fan support and being better at doing chapter synopses than I am; my girlfriend because duh; J-D and Roentgen for allowing me to borrow some of their characters; The Angst Guy for the Backgrounders page, that helps lazy men like me populate a fic; and everyone who suggested or mentioned things that I ended up stealing for the fic.

Steve will endure.

* * *

**MEANWHILE, SIDEWAYS IN TIME**

"They're on the run! Pussies! _We take the fight to DC itself!_"

* * *

500 Years Later

"The broadcast is now being logged by ProfAlpha Ólafur Ooduya, noted historian and lecturer at the University of Bergen – you have a new blogplus out about the 'Dire Khan', Empress Daria Morgendorffer?"

"Thank you, Doona. Now that's one of the many things that is misunderstood about Morgendorffer; the title of empress was _not_, in fact, used during her life, but a retcon placed by Emperor Sid Janus after his rise to power. There were so many retcons about her life during the Janusian Era of the Commonwealth of Punks, combined with the loss of documents in purges and wars, that there is a real need to bring the truth back to the public.

"For example, for the first twenty years after the Treaty of Harstad and the end of the Third World War, Morgendorffer tried to run the Commonwealth under a system of _anarchy._ It was only the threat of climate change that forced the fourteen nations to centralise, and she held referendums every ten years on whether she should remain 'Grand Poobah' – the original term for her office. Even _with_ this greater centralisation, there was still a great range of what 'punk' counted as, with Morgendorffer giving the great 'I Don't Give A Fuck' speech when asked to judge on who was being a true punk. It shows the true weakness of the 2190s administration that they allowed Janus to form his Authenticity Guard, and that they let him take over their history.

"And yes, Morgendorffer was a ferocious war leader and we do know that she would have preferred to keep fighting the United Nations rather than sign Hasgard, but she was also intelligent enough to play the long game. The 2040s would see the UN fall on itself in wars for resources and living space, without Morgendorffer having to do anything – save for intervention to assist the Neutral League nations in the North Sea War and the Botswana War – and she emerged into 2050 as the dominant power in the solar system. But after that, she only fought a war of defence, as did everyone, against the G'egeekajee.

"We are _incredibly_ lucky that enough evidence was preserved by the future Eastern Commonwealth – indeed, a more accurate Morgendorffer was used to rally the secessionists! Many in the former True Punk Commonwealth were unaware of this until decades after the fact, believing Janus II's claim that the secessionists were followers of Quinnism. Even then, the East's belief that when her old supra-country needed her, Morgendorffer would return from the dead leading an army of the 1970s punk bands, began to catch on in the Tee-Cee."

"Yes, about that myth, Mr Ooduya – the Punkodox Church and Sufi-core faiths in Canadamerica still preach that the Liberation of 2401 was the return of the Prophetess. Is that just wishful thinking, or…?"

"Well, whoever _did_ take out Janus IV has never taken credit and there were no survivors in Lawndale to record what really happened. I have to go with Daphna Satrapi on this one, it was almost certainly a covert hit by Greater Bolivia who _allowed _TeeCee to believe it was a divine uprising. But it certainly made a nice rallying myth…

* * *

111 Years Earlier

The great door to Fortress Zon was smashed down, a great head-shaped dent in the centre, and the Zon Guard dropped their guns and began to pray as the nature of their enemy became clear.

_"Greeetinnggggsssssss! I am VERY FUCKINGGGG PISSSSSED…"_

THE FINAL END


End file.
